--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_May_ 30_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--My poor sister is taken quietly home at last. She
died on Monday. With almost her last breath she said she was happy,
and thanked God that death was come, and come so gently. I did not
think it would be so soon.
'You will not expect me to add more at present.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_June_ 25_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am now again at home, where I returned last
Thursday. I call it _home_ still--much as London would be called
London if an earthquake should shake its streets to ruins. But let
me not be ungrateful: Haworth parsonage is still a home for me, and
not quite a ruined or desolate home either. Papa is there, and two
most affectionate and faithful servants, and two old dogs, in their
way as faithful and affectionate--Emily's large house-dog which lay
at the side of her dying bed, and followed her funeral to the vault,
lying in the pew couched at our feet while the burial service was
being read--and Anne's little spaniel.
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