'When all our cheerful hours seem gone for ever, All lost that caused the body or the mind To nourish love or friendship for our kind, And Charon's boat, prepared, o'er Lethe's river Our souls to waft, and all our thoughts to sever From what was once life's Light; still there may be Some well-loved bosom to whose pillow we Could heartily our utter self deliver; And if, toward her grave--Death's dreary road-- Our Darling's feet should tread, each step by her Would draw our own steps to the same abode, And make a festival of sepulture; For what gave joy, and joy to us had owed, Should death affright us from, when he would her restore? 'Yours most sincerely, 'P. B. BRONTË.' The sketch, referred to in this letter, is in Indian-ink, and is of a female figure, with clasped hands, streaming hair, and averted face. We need not entertain a doubt as to whom it is intended to represent. It is inscribed, in Spanish, 'Nuestra Señora de la Pena'--Our Lady of Grief--which also appears on a headstone in the sketch. The sonnet, which concludes this letter to Leyland, is beautiful as it is sad, and not only possesses the musical cadences, and completeness of theme, so essential in this mode of expression, but exhibits the high culture of Branwell's mind, and the direction in which the irrepressible emotions of his heart are moved. Branwell, in this communication, makes no further mention of his novel. Yet the experience of his sisters with their poems had only confirmed the judgment he expressed six months before, that no pecuniary advantage was to be obtained by publishing verse. The sisters had expended, on their little volume, over thirty pounds; but they valued it rightly as an effort to succeed. It was issued from the press early in May. Charlotte had conducted the negotiations with the publishers in a very business-like way. She had directed them as to the copies to be sent for review, and as to the advertisements, on which she wished to expend little. The book appeared, and the world took little note of it: it was scarcely mentioned anywhere; but the sisters at Haworth waited patiently, and they were not dismayed that they waited in vain; for they had new-born hope in their other literary venture of the three prose stories. 'The book,' says Charlotte of the Poems, 'was printed: it is scarcely known, and all of it that merits to be known are the poems of Ellis Bell. The fixed conviction I held, and hold, of the worth of these poems has not indeed received the confirmation of much favourable criticism; but I must retain it notwithstanding.'