“I am tolerably well convinced that I shall never marry at all.  Reason
   tells me so, and I am not so utterly the slave of feeling but that I
   can occasionally hear her voice.”

   “June 2nd, 1840.

“M. is not yet come to Haworth; but she is to come on the condition that I first go and stay a few days there.  If all be well, I shall go next Wednesday.  I may stay at G—–­ until Friday or Saturday, and the early part of the following week I shall pass with you, if you will have me—­which last sentence indeed is nonsense, for as I shall be glad to see you, so I know you will be glad to see me.  This arrangement will not allow much time, but it is the only practicable one which, considering all the circumstances, I can effect.  Do not urge me to stay more than two or three days, because I shall be obliged to refuse you.  I intend to walk to Keighley, there to take the coach as far as B—–­, then to get some one to carry my box, and to walk the rest of the way to G-.  If I manage this, I think I shall contrive very well.  I shall reach B. by about five o’clock, and then I shall have the cool of the evening for the walk.  I have communicated the whole arrangement to M. I desire exceedingly to see both her and you.  Good-bye.

   C. B.
   C. B.
   C. B.
   C. B.

   “If you have any better plan to suggest I am open to conviction,
   provided your plan is practicable.”

   “August 20th, 1840.

   “Have you seen anything of Miss H. lately?  I wish they, or somebody
   else, would get me a situation.  I have answered advertisements
   without number, but my applications have met with no success.

“I have got another bale of French books from G. containing upwards of forty volumes.  I have read about half.  They are like the rest, clever, wicked, sophistical, and immoral.  The best of it is, they give one a thorough idea of France and Paris, and are the best substitute for French conversation that I have met with.

“I positively have nothing more to say to you, for I am in a stupid humour.  You must excuse this letter not being quite as long as your own.  I have written to you soon, that you might not look after the postman in vain.  Preserve this writing as a curiosity in caligraphy—­I think it is exquisite—­all brilliant black blots, and utterly illegible letters.  ‘CALIBAN.’

“’The wind bloweth where it listeth.  Thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, nor whither it goeth.’  That, I believe, is Scripture, though in what chapter or book, or whether it be correctly quoted, I can’t possibly say.  However, it behoves me to write a letter to a young woman of the name of E., with whom I was once acquainted, ‘in life’s morning march, when