and month upon month (for it is now four months since I saw any of you) I am heartily tired. . . . . I hate to be continually obliged to think of what I must say, for fear of offending some one or other—however, I never had the slightest disagreement with one of them. On the whole, I compare my visit to Clifton to a sunny day in December. . . . I have such a delightful room to sit in, where I usually spend mornings and evenings—I have borrowed Miss Elizabeth Smith's 'Fragments,' I like them so much. I am quite in Miss C.'s good graces—it is impossible to help laughing at her, but it never offends her—on the contrary she exclaims, 'Well now, dear heart alive, I am so glad to find you have such good spirits!' I believe my aunt thinks me not a little rhodomontade, but it is very excusable at present. I am happy for three things; first, I am so enchanted with Mr. Jerdan's note; secondly, so pleased at having left Clifton; and last, though not least, I am so delighted to think it will not be long before I shall see you all again."
This letter, which, like every one of the hundreds we have seen from the same hand, is without a date, was written from Gloucestershire, where, in 1820, she was staying on a visit to some of her relatives, having previously visited Clifton (as referred to in the letter) accompanied by her grand-mother. This was the first time she had ever quitted home. We see how her heart returns to it. Separated from what she had most associated with, she can but compare her days to glimpses of December sunshine—warm and bright only by comparison.
The poem thus alluded to as being entirely
