riends here say they will not hear anything more from us on
the subject of the rent until the book is sold and we have plenty of
money. This is one great relief and happiness. Another, for which I feel
even more grateful, is that William's eyes have gained so much by their
long rest, that even the doctor is surprised at the progress he has
made. He only puts on his green shade now when he goes out into the sun,
or when the candles are lit. His spirits are infinitely raised, and he
is beginning to talk already of the time when he will unpack his palette
and brushes, and take to his old portrait-painting occupations again.

With all these reasons for being happy, it seems unreasonable and
ungracious in me to be feeling sad, as I do just at this moment. I can
only say, in my own justification, that it is a mournful ceremony to
take leave of an old friend; and I have taken leave twice over of the
book that has been like an old friend to me--once when I had written the
last word in it, and once again when I saw it carried away to London.

I packed the manuscript up with my own hands this morning, in thick
brown paper, wasting a great deal of sealing-wax, I am afraid, in my
anxiety to keep the parcel from bursting open in case it should be
knocked about on its journey to town. Oh me, how cheap and common it
looked, in its new form, as I carried it downstairs! A dozen pairs of
worsted stockings would have made a larger parcel; and half a crown's
worth of groceries would have weighed a great deal heavier.

Just as we had done dinner the doctor and the editor came in. The first
had called to fetch the parcel--I mean the manuscript; the second had
come out with him to Appletreewick for a walk. As soon as the farmer
heard that the book was to be sent to London, he insisted that we should
drink success to it all round. The children, in high glee, were mounted
up on the table, with a glass of currant-wine apiece; the rest of us had
ale; the farmer proposed the toast, and his sailor son led the cheers.
We all joined in (the children included), except the editor--who, being
the only important person of the party, could not, I suppose, afford
to compromise his dignity by making a noise. He was extremely polite,
however, in a lofty way, to me, waving his hand and bowing magnificently
every time he spoke. This discomposed me a little; and I was still more
flurried when he said that he had written to the London publishers that
very day,