much depressed."

So ended the year 1846.



CHAPTER II

The next year opened with a spell of cold dreary weather, which
told severely on a constitution already tried by anxiety and
care. Miss Bronte describes herself as having utterly lost her
appetite, and as looking "grey, old, worn and sunk," from her
sufferings during the inclement season. The cold brought on
severe toothache; toothache was the cause of a succession of
restless miserable nights; and long wakefulness told acutely upon
her nerves, making them feel with redoubled sensitiveness all the
harass of her oppressive life. Yet she would not allow herself to
lay her bad health to the charge of an uneasy mind; "for after
all," said she at this time, "I have many, many things to be
thankful for." But the real state of things may be gathered from
the following extracts from her letters.

"March 1st.

"Even at the risk of appearing very exacting, I can't help saying
that I should like a letter as long as your last, every time you
write. Short notes give one the feeling of a very small piece of
a very good thing to eat,--they set the appetite on edge, and
don't satisfy it,--a letter leaves you more contented; and yet,
after all, I am very glad to get notes; so don't think, when you