But read it, sir; and, as you would hold a light to one in utter darkness--as you value your own kindheartedness--_return_ me an _answer_, if but one word, telling me whether I should write on, or write no more.

Forgive undue warmth, because my feelings in this matter cannot be cool; and believe me, sir, with deep respect, "Your really humble servant, "P.

B.Bronte" The poetry enclosed seems to me by no means equal to parts of the letter; but, as every one likes to judge for himself, I copy the six opening stanzas--about a third of the whole, and certainly not the worst.
So where he reigns in glory bright, Above those starry skies of night, Amid his Paradise of light Oh, why may I not be?
Oft when awake on Christmas morn, In sleepless twilight laid forlorn, Strange thoughts have o'er my mind been borne, How he has died for me.
And oft within my chamber lying, Have I awaked myself with crying From dreams, where I beheld Him dying Upon the accursed Tree.
And often has my mother said, While on her lap I laid my head, She feared for time I was not made, But for Eternity.
So "I can read my title clear, To mansions in the skies, And let me bid farewell to fear, And wipe my weeping eyes." I'll lay me down on this marble stone, And set the world aside, To see upon her ebon throne The Moon in glory ride.
Soon after Charlotte returned to Dewsbury Moor, she was distressed by hearing that her friend "E." was likely to leave the neighbourhood for a considerable length of time.
"Feb.

20th.
"What shall I do without you?
How long are we likely to be separated?
Why are we to be denied each other's society?
It is an inscrutable fatality.

I long to be with you, because it seems as if two or three days, or weeks, spent in your company would beyond measure strengthen me in the enjoyment of those feelings which I have so lately begun to cherish.