but her occupation was not sufficient food for her great forces of intellect, and they cried out perpetually, "Give, give," while the flat and comparatively stagnant air of Dewsbury Moor told upon her health and spirits more and more. On August 27, 1837, she writes:—
"I am again at Dewsbury, engaged in the old business,—teach, teach, teach. . . . When will you come home? Make haste! You have been at Bath long enough for all purposes; by this time you have acquired polish enough, I am sure; if the varnish is laid on much thicker, I am afraid the good wood underneath will be quite concealed, and your Yorkshire friends won't stand that. Come, come. I am getting really tired of your absence. Saturday after Saturday comes round, and I can have no hope of hearing your knock at the door, and then being told that 'Miss E. is come.' Oh dear! in this monotonous life of mine, that was a pleasant event. I wish it would recur again; but it will take two or three interviews before the stiffness—the estrangement of this long separation—will wear away."
About this time she forgot to return a work-bag she had borrowed, by a messenger, and in repairing her error she says:—"These aberrations of memory warn me pretty intelligibly that I am getting past my prime." Ætat 21! And the same tone of despondency runs through the following letter:—
"I wish exceedingly that I could come to you before
