Give my
love to her and to Miss Wooler, if you have the opportunity. I am
writing this on just such a night as you will likely read it--rain
and storm, coming winter, and a glowing fire. Ours is on the ground,
wood, no fender or irons; no matter, we are very comfortable.
'PAG.'
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, N. Z., _April_ 3_rd_, 1850.
'DEAR CHARLOTTE,--About a week since I received your last melancholy
letter with the account of Anne's death and your utter indifference
to everything, even to the success of your last book. Though you do
not say this, it is pretty plain to be seen from the style of your
letter. It seems to me hard indeed that you who would succeed,
better than any one, in making friends and keeping them, should be
condemned to solitude from your poverty. To no one would money bring
more happiness, for no one would use it better than you would. For
me, with my headlong self-indulgent habits, I am perhaps better
without it, but I am convinced it would give you great and noble
pleasures. Look out then for success in writing; you ought to care
as much for that as you do for going to Heaven.
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