I promised you, in the interesting P.S.  I annexed to my aunt Dall’s letter, to write to you to-day, and I sit down this evening to fulfill my promise.  My father is gone out to dinner, my mother is asleep on the sofa, Dall reclines dozing in that blissful armchair you wot of, and Henry, happier than either, is extended snoring before the fire on the softest, thickest, splendidest colored rug (a piece of my mother’s workmanship) that the most poetical canine imagination could conceive; I should think an earthly type of those heavenly rugs which virtuous dogs, according to your creed, are destined to enjoy.

[My friend Miss S——­ held (without having so eloquently advocated) the theory of her and my friend Miss Cobbe, of the possible future existence of animals; such animals at any rate as had formed literally a precious part of the earthly existence of their owners, and in whom a certain sense, so nearly resembling conscience, is developed, by their obedience and attachment to the superior race, that it is difficult to consider them unmoral creatures.  Perhaps, however, if the choice were given our four-footed friends to share our future prospects and present responsibility, they might decline the offer, “Thankfu’ they werena’ men, but dogs.”]

Dear H——­, the pleasant excitement of your society assisted the natural contentedness or indifference of my disposition to throw aside many reflections upon myself and others, the life I lead and its various annoyances, which have been unpleasantly forced upon me since your departure; and when I say that I do not feel happy, you will not count it merely the blue-devilish fancy of a German brain or an English (that is bilious) stomach.

     I have a feeling, not of dissatisfaction or discontent so much as
     of sadness and weariness, though I struggle always and sometimes
     pretty successfully to rouse myself from it.

You say you wish to know what we did on Christmas Day.  I’ll tell you.  In the morning I went to church, after which I came home and copied “The Star of Seville” till dinner-time.  After dinner my mother, who had proposed spending the evening at our worthy pastor’s, Mr. Sterky’s, finding my father disinclined for that exertion, remained at home and went to sleep; my father likewise, Dall likewise, Henry likewise; and I copied on at my play till bedtime:  voila.  On Monday, contrary to my expectation, I had to play Euphrasia before the pantomime.  You know we were to spend Christmas Eve at my aunt Siddons’s; we had a delightful evening and I was very happy.  My aunt came down from the drawing-room (for we danced in the dining-room on the ground floor) and sat among us, and you cannot think how nice and pretty it was to see her surrounded by her clan, more than three dozen strong; some of them so handsome, and many with a striking likeness to herself, either in feature or expression.  Mrs. Harry and