en to a beloved friend who was
passing the winter at the South, and whose name has already been
mentioned.

A sentence in the first of these letters deserves to be noted as
affording a key to one side of her character, namely: "the depressing
sense of inferiority which was born with me." All her earlier years were
shadowed by this morbid feeling; nor was she ever quite free from its
influence. It was, probably, at once a cause and an effect of the
sensitive shyness that clung to her to the last. Perhaps, too, it grew
in part out of her irrepressible craving for love, coupled with utter
incredulity about herself possessing the qualities which rendered her so
lovable. "It is one of the faults of my character," she wrote, "to fancy
that nobody cares for me."

When, dear Anna, I had taken my last look at the last familiar face
in Portland (I fancy you know whose face it was) I became quite as
melancholy as I ever desire to be, even on the principle that "by the
sadness of the countenance the heart is made better." I dare say
you never had a chance to feel, and therefore will not be able to
understand, the depressing sense of inferiority which was born with me,
which grew with my growth and strengthened with my strength, and
which, though somewhat repressed of late years, gets the mastery very
frequently and makes me believe myself the most unlovable of beings. It
was with this feeling that I left home and journeyed hither, wondering
why I was made, and if anybody on earth will ever be a bit the happier
for it, and whether I shall ever learn where to put myself in the scale
of being. This is not humility, please take notice--for humility is
contented, I think, with such things as it hath.

_To Miss Anna S. Prentiss. Richmond, Nov. 26, 1842_

When I reached Richmond last night, tired and dusty and stupefied, I
felt a good deal like crawling away into some cranny and staying there
the rest of my life; but this morning, when I had remembered mother's
existence and yours and that of some one or two others, I felt more
disposed to write than anything else. Your note was a great comfort to
me during two and a half hours at Portsmouth, and while on my journey.
I thought pages to you in reply. How I should love to have you here in
Richmond, even if I could only see you once a month, or _know_ only that
you were here and never see you! With many most kind friends about me,
I still shall feel very keenly the separation from you. T