A friendly compact had been made between Branwell and Leyland that the latter should model a medallion of his friend, and that Branwell should write the poem 'Morley Hall,'--to which I have had occasion above to allude--a subject in which the sculptor was much interested. Shortly after his sister made the inquiries from Messrs. Aylott, Branwell visited Halifax to sit for his medallion; and, on the 28th of April, he wrote the following letter to his friend:-- 'Haworth, Bradford, 'Yorks. 'MY DEAR SIR, 'As I am anxious--though my return for your kindness will be like giving a sixpence for a sovereign lent--to do my best in my intended lines on Morley, I want answers to the following questions.... If I learn these facts, I'll do my best, but in all I try to write I desire to stick to probabilities and local characteristics. 'I cannot, without a smile at myself, think of my stay for three days in Halifax on a business which need not have occupied three hours; but, in truth, when I fall back _on_ myself, I suffer so much wretchedness that I cannot withstand any temptation to get _out_ of myself--and for that reason, I am prosecuting enquiries about situations suitable to me, whereby I could have a voyage abroad. The quietude of home, and the inability to make my family aware of the nature of most of my sufferings, makes me write: 'Home thoughts are not with me, Bright, as of yore; Joys are forgot by me, Taught to deplore! My home has taken rest In an afflicted breast, Which I have often pressed, But may no more. 'Troubles never come alone--and I have some little troubles astride the shoulders of the big one. 'Literary exertion would seem a resource; but the depression attendant on it, and the almost hopelessness of bursting through the barriers of literary circles, and getting a hearing among publishers, make me disheartened and indifferent, for I cannot write what would be thrown unread into a library fire. Otherwise, I have the materials for a respectably sized volume, and, if I were in London personally, I might, perhaps, try ---- ----, a patronizer of the sons of rhyme; though I daresay the poor man often smarts for his liberality in publishing hideous trash. As I know that, while here, I might send a manuscript to London, and say good-bye to it, I feel it folly to feed the flames of a printer's fire. So much for egotism! 'I enclose a horribly ill-drawn daub done to while away the time this morning. I meant it to represent a very rough figure in stone.