On August 27, 1837, she writes:--
"I am again at Dewsbury, engaged in the old business,--teach, teach,
teach . . . _When will you come home_? Make haste! You have been at
Bath long enough for all purposes; by this time you have acquired
polish enough, I am sure; if the varnish is laid on much thicker, I am
afraid the good wood underneath will be quite concealed, and your
Yorkshire friends won't stand that. Come, come. I am getting really
tired of your absence. Saturday after Saturday comes round, and I can
have no hope of hearing your knock at the door, and then being told
that 'Miss E. is come.' Oh, dear! in this monotonous life of mine,
that was a pleasant event. I wish it would recur again; but it will
take two or three interviews before the stiffness--the estrangement of
this long separation--will wear away."
About this time she forgot to return a work-bag she had borrowed, by a
messenger, and in repairing her error she says:--"These aberrations of
memory warn me pretty intelligibly that I am getting past my prime."
AEtat 21! And the same tone of despondency runs through the following
letter:--
"I wish exceedingly that I could come to you before Christmas, but it
is impossible; another three weeks must elapse before I shall again
have my comforter beside me, under the roof of my own dear quiet home.
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