though postage, in my eyes, is one of the seven deadly sins, I should have committed it, had I anything to say. But if little happens in London, nothing happens in the country. When I have said that I am very well, very comfortable, and that all my friends are as kind to me as possible, my stock of news is exhausted. If it had been summer, I might have treated you with a little description, but the beauty of this part of the country consisting in its woods, what are they without foliage?
'It is folly to dream of a bower of green
When there is not a leaf on the tree.'
The winter is very severe. Even now the garden is partially covered with snow. However, in the more sunshiny patches, snowdrops, and pink and blue hepaticas are beginning to peep out, and the greenhouse gives handsome promise of hyacinths, roses, &c. Partly from the severity of the weather, partly because it is their custom, we live very much to ourselves; but the family circle is, in itself, large and cheerful, and I do not know a more agreeable woman than my aunt. One of my cousins sings exquisitely—the younger ones were sadly distressed at my want of accomplishments. When I first arrived, Julia and Isabel began to cross-question me—'Can you play?' 'No.' 'Can you sing?' 'No.' 'Can you speak Italian?' 'No.' 'Can you draw?' 'No.' At last they came down to 'Can you write and read?' Here I was able to answer to their great relief, 'Yes, a little.' I believe Julia, in the first warmth of cousinly affection, was going to offer to teach me the alphabet. I have had a very pleasant visit, but I am as constant as ever to London. I would not take
