We have translated our room into winter--sent off the piano towards the windows, and packed tables, chairs, and sofas as near to the hearth as possible.
What a time of anxiety this war time is![38] I do thank God that _we_ have no reasons for its being a personal agony, through having anyone very precious at the post of danger.

I have two first cousins there, a Hedley, and Paget Butler, Sir Thomas's son.

I understand that the gloom in England from the actual bereavements is great; that the frequency of deep mourning strikes the eye; that even the shops are filled chiefly with black; and that it has become a sort of _mode_ to wear black or grey, without family losses, and from the mere force of sympathy.
My poor father is still unable to stir from the house, and he has been unwell through a bilious attack, the consequence of want of exercise.
Nothing can induce him to go out in a carriage, because he 'never did in his life drive out for mere amusement,' he says.

There's what Mr.Kenyon calls 'the Barrett obstinacy,' and it makes me uneasy as to the effect of it in this instance upon the general health of the patient.

Poor darling Arabel seems to me much out of spirits--'out of humour,' _she_ calls it, dear thing--oppressed by the gloom of the house, and looking back yearningly to the time when she had sisters to talk to.