strangers—­people whose faces I had never seen before.  In this state I had charge given me of a set of pampered, spoilt, turbulent children, whom I was expected constantly to amuse, as well as to instruct.  I soon found that the constant demand on my stock of animal spirits reduced them to the lowest state of exhaustion; at times I felt—­and, I suppose, seemed—­depressed.  To my astonishment, I was taken to task on the subject by Mrs.——­, with a sternness of manner and a harshness of language scarcely credible; like a fool, I cried most bitterly.  I could not help it; my spirits quite failed me at first.  I thought I had done my best—­strained every nerve to please her; and to be treated in that way, merely because I was shy and sometimes melancholy, was too bad.  At first I was for giving all up and going home.  But, after a little reflection, I determined to summon what energy I had, and to weather the storm.  I said to myself, ’I have never yet quitted a place without gaining a friend; adversity is a good school; the poor are born to labour, and the dependent to endure.’  I resolved to be patient, to command my feelings, and to take what came; the ordeal, I reflected, would not last many weeks, and I trusted it would do me good.  I recollected the fable of the willow and the oak; I bent quietly, and now, I trust, the storm is blowing over me.  Mrs. ——­ is generally considered an agreeable woman; so she is, I doubt not, in general society.  Her health is sound, her animal spirits good, consequently she is cheerful in company; but oh! does this compensate for the absence of every fine feeling—­of every gentle and delicate sentiment?  She behaves somewhat more civilly to me now than she did at first, and the children are a little more manageable; but she does not know my character, and she does not wish to know it.  I have never had five minutes’ conversation with her since I came, except while she was scolding me.  I have no wish to be pitied, except by yourself; if I were talking to you I could tell you much more.

To WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Thanks for advice

[1840.]

...  Authors are generally very tenacious of their productions, but I am not so much attached to this but that I can give it up without much distress.  No doubt, if I had gone on, I should have made quite a Richardsonian concern of it....  I had materials in my head for half-a-dozen volumes....  Of course, it is with considerable regret I relinquish any scheme so charming as the one I have sketched.  It is very edifying and profitable to create a world out of your own brains, and people it with inhabitants, who are so many Melchisedecs, and have no father nor mother but your own imagination....  I am sorry I did not exist fifty or sixty years ago, when the Ladies’ Magazine was flourishing like a green bay tree.  In that case, I make no doubt, my aspirations after literary fame would have met