e more frequently to her
memory, I imagine, than those of any other poet.

"Mary" says: "Cowper's poem, 'The Castaway,' was known to them all, and
they all at times appreciated, or almost appropriated it. Charlotte told
me once that Branwell had done so; and though his depression was the
result of his faults, it was in no other respect different from hers.
Both were not mental but physical illnesses. She was well aware of this,
and would ask how that mended matters, as the feeling was there all the
same, and was not removed by knowing the cause. She had a larger
religious toleration than a person would have who had never questioned,
and the manner of recommending religion was always that of offering
comfort, not fiercely enforcing a duty. One time I mentioned that some
one had asked me what religion I was of (with the view of getting me for
a partizan), and that I had said that that was between God and me;--Emily
(who was lying on the hearth-rug) exclaimed, 'That's right.' This was
all I ever heard Emily say on religious subjects. Charlotte was free
from religious depression when in tolerable health; when that failed, her
depression returned. You have probably seen such instances. They don't
get over their difficulties; they forget them, when their stomach (or
whatever organ it is that inflicts such misery on sedentary people) will
let them. I have heard her condemn Socinianism, Calvinism, and many
other 'isms' inconsistent with Church of Englandism. I used to wonder at
her acquaintance with such subjects."

"May 10th, 1836.

"I was struck with the note you sent me with the umbrella; it showed a
degree of interest in my concerns which I have no right to expect from
any earthly creature. I won't play the hypocrite; I won't answer your
kind, gentle, friendly questions in the way you wish me to. Don't
deceive yourself by imagining I have a bit of real goodness about me.
My darling, if I were like you, I should have my face Zion-ward,
though prejudice and error might occasionally fling a mist over the
glorious vision before me--but I _am not like you_. If you knew my
thoughts, the dreams that absorb me, and the fiery imagination that at
times eats me up, and makes me feel society, as it is, wretchedly
insipid, you would pity and I dare say despise me. But I know the
treasures of the _Bible_; I love and adore them. I can _see_ the Well
of Life in all its clearness an