In a tenderly affectionate note, written from Teignmouth the same evening, she says, “I can look back without any other pang than the necessary one of having stretched, I must not say broken, our family bond;” and then she adds the sincere desire for herself and her husband, “Oh that we may be more humble and watchful than ever before, and that my daily care may be to remember those sweet lines which helped me so this morning,—­

    “When thou art nothing in thyself,
    Then thou art close to me.”

A fortnight spent among the lakes of Westmoreland and Cumberland was a time of much happiness.  It was her first introduction to mountain scenery; and her letters to the home circle she had just left, contain animated descriptions of the beauties around her.  A few extracts from these, showing the healthy enjoyment she experienced, and the cheerful and comfortable state of her mind, particulars which acquire an interest from the solemn circumstances so soon to follow, may not be unsuitably inserted:—­

  BOWNESS, 9th Month, 1st, 1851.

  MY DEAR L.:—­

* * * We had a lovely ride and ferrying over Windermere to Colthouse meeting on First-day. * * * I am almost well, and able to enter into these beauties.  Will you be satisfied with seven sketches, such as they are, for this day?

I thought, as we passed Doves’ Nest, and read in the guide-book F. Hemans’s description of her dwelling there for twelve months, and how many sad hearts, beside hers, had come thither for a refuge from sorrow, what cause we had to be thankful for (so far) another lot; and yet, dear L., with all I see around me, my heart is very often with you, and turns

  From glassy lakes, and mountains grand,
    And green reposeful isles,
  To that one corner of the land
    Beyond the rest that smiles.

  Beyond the rest it smiles for me,
    Thither my thoughts will roam—­
  The home beloved of infancy,
    My childhood’s precious home!

And yet somehow it is not with a reproachful smile that it looks on me, nor with a regretful heart that I think upon it.  It is delightful to think of dear father and mother’s coming to Birmingham so soon, and of meeting R. this day fortnight.

To her Mother.

  GRASMERE, 3d of 9th Month, 1851.

  MY DEAR MOTHER:—­

We have had a lovely day, and I scarcely know where or how to begin the tale of beauty.  If there be any shadow of truth in the notion that “a thing of beauty is a joy forever,” we must have been laying in a store of delight which may cheer many a busy and many a lonely hour.  Truly, as we have gazed upon the glorious mountains; looked down from the summit of Silver How, on the green vale of Grasmere, and the far-off Windermere; looked with almost awful feelings on the black shadowy rocks that encompass Easdale Tarn, (all that yesterday,)