considered it a point of honour rather to sing praises to an English hero than to dwell on the character of a foreigner, placed as she was among those who cared little either for an England or for Wellington.  She now felt that she had made great progress towards obtaining proficiency in the French language, which had been her main object in coming to Brussels.  But to the zealous learner “Alps on Alps arise.”  No sooner is one difficulty surmounted than some other desirable attainment appears, and must be laboured after.  A knowledge of German now became her object; and she resolved to compel herself to remain in Brussels till that was gained.  The strong yearning to go home came upon her; the stronger self-denying will forbade.  There was a great internal struggle; every fibre of her heart quivered in the strain to master her will; and, when she conquered herself, she remained, not like a victor calm and supreme on the throne, but like a panting, torn, and suffering victim.  Her nerves and her spirits gave way.  Her health became much shaken.

   “Brussels, August 1st, 1843.

“If I complain in this letter, have mercy and don’t blame me, for, I forewarn you, I am in low spirits, and that earth and heaven are dreary and empty to me at this moment.  In a few days our vacation will begin; everybody is joyous and animated at the prospect, because everybody is to go home.  I know that I am to stay here during the five weeks that the holidays last, and that I shall be much alone during that time, and consequently get downcast, and find both days and nights of a weary length.  It is the first time in my life that I have really dreaded the vacation.  Alas!  I can hardly write, I have such a dreary weight at my heart; and I do so wish to go home.  Is not this childish?  Pardon me, for I cannot help it.  However, though I am not strong enough to bear up cheerfully, I can still bear up; and I will continue to stay (D.  V.) some months longer, till I have acquired German; and then I hope to see all your faces again.  Would that the vacation were well over! it will pass so slowly.  Do have the Christian charity to write me a long, long letter; fill it with the minutest details; nothing will be uninteresting.  Do not think it is because people are unkind to me that I wish to leave Belgium; nothing of the sort.  Everybody is abundantly civil, but home-sickness keeps creeping over me.  I cannot shake it off.  Believe me, very merrily, vivaciously, gaily, yours,

   “C.B.”

The grandes vacances began soon after the date of this letter, when she was left in the great deserted pensionnat, with only one teacher for a companion.  This teacher, a Frenchwoman, had always been uncongenial to her; but, left to each other’s sole companionship, Charlotte soon discovered that her associate was more profligate, more steeped in a kind of cold, systematic sensuality, than she had before imagined it possible