all, there is a constant sense of solitude in the midst of numbers.  The Protestant, the foreigner, is a solitary being, whether as teacher or pupil.  I do not say this by way of complaining of my own lot; for though I acknowledge that there are certain disadvantages in my present position, what position on earth is without them?  And, whenever I turn back to compare what I am with what I was—­my place here with my place at Mrs. —–­’s for instance—­I am thankful.  There was an observation in your last letter which excited, for a moment, my wrath.  At first, I thought it would be folly to reply to it, and I would let it die.  Afterwards, I determined to give one answer, once for all.  ‘Three or four people,’ it seems, ’have the idea that the future epoux of Mademoiselle Bronte is on the Continent.’  These people are wiser than I am.  They could not believe that I crossed the sea merely to return as teacher to Madame Hegers.  I must have some more powerful motive than respect for my master and mistress, gratitude for their kindness, &c., to induce me to refuse a salary of 50_l_. in England, and accept one of 16_l_. in Belgium.  I must, forsooth, have some remote hope of entrapping a husband somehow, or somewhere.  If these charitable people knew the total seclusion of the life I lead,—­that I never exchange a word with any other man than Monsieur Heger, and seldom indeed with him,—­they would, perhaps, cease to suppose that any such chimerical and groundless notion had influenced my proceedings.  Have I said enough to clear myself of so silly an imputation?  Not that it is a crime to marry, or a crime to wish to be married; but it is an imbecility, which I reject with contempt, for women, who have neither fortune nor beauty, to make marriage the principal object of their wishes and hopes, and the aim of all their actions; not to be able to convince themselves that they are unattractive, and that they had better be quiet, and think of other things than wedlock.”

The following is an extract, from one of the few letters which have been preserved, of her correspondence with her sister Emily:—­

   “May 29, 1843

“I get on here from day to day in a Robinson-Crusoe-like sort of way, very lonely, but that does not signify.  In other respects, I have nothing substantial to complain of, nor is this a cause for complaint.  I hope you are well.  Walk out often on the moors.  My love to Tabby.  I hope she keeps well.”

And about this time she wrote to her father,

   “June 2nd, 1818,

“I was very glad to hear from home.  I had begun to get low-spirited at not receiving any news, and to entertain indefinite fears that something was wrong.  You do not say anything about your own health, but I hope you are well, and Emily also.  I am afraid she will have a good deal of hard work to do now that Hannah” (a servant-girl who had been assisting Tabby) “is gone.