'I shall write more at length (Deo Volente) on matters of much importance to me, but of little to yourself. 'Yours in the bonds, 'SANCTUS PATRICIUS BRANWELLIUS BRONTËIO.' With the foregoing letter, Branwell enclosed a page containing three spirited sketches. The first is a scene in which the sculptor and Branwell are the principal actors. They are seated on stools, facing one another, each holding a wine glass, and, between them on the ground, is a decanter. Behind the sculptor is placed the mutilated statue of Theseus. A copy of Cowper's 'Anatomy' is open at the title-page; and, leaning over it, is a figure of Admodeus, Setebos, or some other winged imp, taking sight at the two. The second sketch is of Branwell himself, represented as a recumbent statue, resting on a slab, under which are the following mournful lines:-- 'Thy soul is flown, And clay alone Has nought to do with joy or care; So if the light of light be gone, There come no sorrows crowding on, And powerless lies DESPAIR.' The third drawing is a landscape, having in the foreground a head-stone, with a skull and crossbones in the semi-circular head. On the stone are carved the words, HIC JACET. Distant peaked hills bound the view. Two pines are to the right of the picture, and the crescent moon, which represents a human profile, is accommodated with a pipe. Underneath it is inscribed the sentence: 'MARTINI LUIGI IMPLORA ETERNA QUIETE!' The following letter, written to Leyland a little later, shows again the stormy perturbations of Branwell's mind. He still clings to the fond imagination that he is the object of the lady's unwavering devotion; and, with the incoherency of the monomania with which he continues to be afflicted, he solemnly declares to the sculptor that he had said to no one what he is then saying to him; while, in truth, he was telling the story of his disappointed hopes to all who would hear the recital. The theme is that of a wild, eager, and unavailing love--whose joys and sorrows he tells in vivid words--which he believes to be returned with equal energy and passion. 'MY DEAR SIR, 'I am going to write a scrawl, for the querulous egotism of which I must entreat your mercy; but, when I look _upon_ my past, present, and future, and then _into_ my own self, I find much, however unpleasant, that yearns for utterance.