interrupted quiet and solitude; and you will probably have the
satisfaction of receiving many _short_ letters from me, for I know not
where I shall find the material for long ones. To be sure, S----'s
sayings and F----'s looks might furnish me with something to say, but I
have a dread of beginning to talk about my children, for fear I should
never leave off, for that is apt to be a "story without an end."

I hear they are going to bestow upon my father, on his return to
England, a silver vase, valued at several hundred pounds. I am
base-minded, dear Harriet, grovelling, and sordid; and were I he, would
rather have a shilling's worth of honor, and the rest of the vase in
hard cash: but he has lived his life upon this sort of thing, and I
think with great pleasure of the great pleasure it will give him. I am
very well, and always most affectionately yours,

F. A. B.

BUTLER PLACE, March 12th, 1840.
DEAREST HARRIET,

It is only a few days since I received your letter with the news of Mr.
F----'s attack, from which it is but natural to apprehend that he may
not recover.... The combination of the loss of one's father, and of the
home of one's whole life, is indeed a severe trial; though in this case,
the one depending on the other, and Mr. F----'s age being so advanced,
Emily with her steadfast mind has probably contemplated the possibility
of this event, and prepared herself for it, as much as preparation may
be made against affliction, which, however long looked for, when it
comes always seems to bring with it some unforeseen element of harsh
surprise. We never can imagine what will happen to us, precisely as it
_does_ happen to us; and overlook in anticipation, not only minute
mitigations, but small stings of aggravation, quite incalculable till
they are experienced.... I could cry to think that I shall never again
see the flowerbeds and walks and shrubberies of Bannisters. I think
there is something predominantly material in my nature, for the sights
and sounds of outward things have always been my chiefest source of
pleasure; and as I grow older this in nowise alters; so little so, that
gathering the first violets of the spring the other morning, it seemed
to me that they were things to _love_ almost more than creatures of my
own human kind. I do not believe I am a normal human being; and at my
death, only _half