"Your last letter was a cordial to me, and came at a time when I greatly needed it; for I was actually suffering under all the evil which you were fearing for me when you wrote it,--confined to the chamber of that little cottage which I have described to you, weak and languid, the mere shadow of what I was when I parted from you. But for the cause and effect of my last visit to Osmotherly I must refer you to my letters to N. C. P. and Mrs. B----; you know I cannot bear to tell the same tale twice, more especially if it be a melancholy tale.
"But do not imagine me to have been in a very forlorn and disconsolate predicament, for I had many blessings to rejoice in all the while. The sun shone brightly all the day full upon the windows of our comfortable, neat apartment, furnished with what, in her former prosperous days, had been the furniture of the 'spare chamber' (the museum of precious articles, you know) of Aunty's 'bien house'; Aunty sitting by the fire in her easy chair, her bright eyes glistening with the exhilaration of returning health; and my ladyship lying on the bed, thin and pale enough I grant, but in as high glee as strength would permit, and not for one minute depressed; if any change came, it was for the better, and my nurses remarked that my worst days were my gayest ones. Then I had two visits each day from the 'little doctor,' the very essence of good-humor and cheerfulness, and as I had in reality but little pain, I could manage to enjoy a good deal. Besides, I had the comfort of a female companion, with whom I could associate with something like equality of feeling. This was the sister of the 'little doctor,' who had just come to Osmotherly to keep house for him. My dear little Jemmy, too, was a source of great amusement and delight to me; he had improved even in the short time I had been from him, and showed some new and interesting trait every time I saw him. I left all behind me, however, on the 30th of January, not without many regrets as you may believe, for I felt it was now certainly for ever; and no one can part from those who have been kind to the utmost of their power, however small that power may be, without sad feelings. This is certainly a great drawback upon the pleasure one takes in travelling, and I sometimes think, when the time comes that I must do the same to all I have known here, I shall wish I had never come. But I do not like to think of it.