se have never cordially acquiesced in the
measure; and now that impediments seem to start up at every step,
opposition grows more open. Papa, indeed, would willingly indulge me,
but this very kindness of his makes me doubt whether I ought to draw
upon it; so, though I could battle out aunt's discontent, I yield to
papa's indulgence. He does not say so, but I know he would rather I
stayed at home; and aunt meant well too, I dare say, but I am provoked
that she reserved the expression of her decided disapproval till all
was settled between you and myself. Reckon on me no more; leave me
out in your calculations: perhaps I ought, in the beginning, to have
had prudence sufficient to shut my eyes against such a prospect of
pleasure, so as to deny myself the hope of it. Be as angry as you
please with me for disappointing you. I did not intend it, and have
only one thing more to say--if you do not go immediately to the sea,
will you come to see us at Haworth? This invitation is not mine only,
but papa's and aunt's."

However, a little more patience, a little more delay, and she enjoyed the
pleasure she had wished for so much. She and her friend went to Easton
for a fortnight in the latter part of September. It was here she
received her first impressions of the sea.

"Oct. 24th.

"Have you forgotten the sea by this time, E.? Is it grown dim in your
mind? Or can you still see it, dark, blue, and green, and foam-white,
and hear it roaring roughly when the wind is high, or rushing softly
when it is calm? . . . I am as well as need be, and very fat. I think
of Easton very often, and of worthy Mr. H., and his kind-hearted
helpmate, and of our pleasant walks to H--- Wood, and to Boynton, our
merry evenings, our romps with little Hancheon, &c., &c. If we both
live, this period of our lives will long be a theme for pleasant
recollection. Did you chance, in your letter to Mr. H., to mention my
spectacles? I am sadly inconvenienced by the want of them. I can
neither read, write, nor draw with comfort in their absence. I hope
Madame won't refuse to give them up . . . Excuse the brevity of this
letter, for I have been drawing all day, and my eyes are so tired it
is quite a labour to write."

But, as the vivid remembrance of this pleasure died away, an accident
occurred to make the actual duties of life press somewhat heavily for a
t