character quickly appeared in his conversation: witty, lively,
ardent, clever too, but deficient in the dignity and discretion of an
Englishman. At home, you know, Ellen, I talk with ease, and am never
shy, never weighed down and oppressed by that miserable _mauvaise
honte_ which torments and constrains me elsewhere. So I conversed
with this Irishman and laughed at his jests, and though I saw faults
in his character, excused them because of the amusement his
originality afforded. I cooled a little, indeed, and drew in towards
the latter part of the evening, because he began to season his
conversation with something of Hibernian flattery, which I did not
quite relish. However, they went away, and no more was thought about
them. A few days after I got a letter, the direction of which
puzzled me, it being in a hand I was not accustomed to see.
Evidently, it was neither from you nor Mary Taylor, my only
correspondents. Having opened and read it, it proved to be a
declaration of attachment and proposal of matrimony, expressed in the
ardent language of the sapient young Irishman! Well! thought I, I
have heard of love at first sight, but this beats all. I leave you
to guess what my answer would be, convinced that you will not do me
the injustice of guessing wrong. When we meet I'll show you the
letter. I hope you are laughing heartily. This is not like one of
my adventures, is it? It more nearly resembles Martha Taylor's. I
am certainly doomed to be an old maid. Never mind, I made up my mind
to that fate ever since I was twelve years old. Write soon.

'C. BRONTE.'

It was not many months after this that we hear the last of poor Mr.
Price.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_January_ 24_th_, 1840.

'MY DEAR ELLEN,--Mr. Price is dead. He had fallen into a state of
delicate health for some time, and the rupture of a blood-vessel
carried him off. He was a strong, athletic-looking man when I saw
him, and that is scarcely six months ago. Though I knew so little of
him, and of course could not be deeply or permanently interested in
what concerned him, I confess, when I suddenly heard he was dead, I
felt both shocked and saddened: it was no shame to feel so, was it?