'Haworth, 'Bradford, Yorks. 'MY DEAR SIR, 'I send you the enclosed,--and I ought to tell you why I wished anything of so personal a nature to appear in print. 'I have no other way, not pregnant with danger, of communicating with one whom I cannot help loving. Printed lines, with my usual signature, "Northangerland," could excite no suspicion--as my late unhappy employer shrank from the bare idea of my being able to write anything, and had a day's sickness after hearing that Macaulay had sent me a complimentary letter; so _he_ won't know the name. 'I sent through a private channel one letter of comfort in her great and agonizing present afflictions, but I recalled it through dread of the consequences of a discovery. 'These lines have only one merit,--that of really expressing my feelings, while sailing under the Welsh mountain, when the band on board the steamer struck up, "Ye banks and braes!" God knows that, for many different reasons, those feelings were far enough from pleasure. 'I suffer very much from that mental exhaustion which arises from brooding on matters useless at present to think of,--and active employment would be my greatest cure and blessing,--for really, after hours of thoughts which business would have hushed, I have felt as if I could not live, and, if long-continued, such a state will bring on permanent affection of the heart, which is already bothered with most uneasy palpitations. 'I should like extremely to have an hour's sitting with you, and, if I had the chance, I would promise to try not to look gloomy. You said you would be at Haworth ere long, but that "ere" has doubtless changed to "ne'er;" so I must wish to get to Halifax some time to see you. 'I saw Murray's monument praised in the papers, and I trust you are getting on well with Beckwith's, as well as with your own personal statue of living flesh and blood. 'Mine, like your Theseus, has lost its hands and feet, and I fear its head also, for it can neither move, write, nor think as it once could. 'I hope I shall hear from you on John Brown's return from Halifax, whither he has gone. 'I remain, &c., 'P. B. BRONTË.' The poem enclosed was entitled: PENMAENMAWR.