Castle Square, Saturday night (October 15).

My dear Cassandra,—Your accounts make us as comfortable as we can expect to be at such a time. Edward's loss is terrible, and must be felt as such, and these are too early days indeed to think of moderation in grief, either in him or his afflicted¹ daughter, but soon we may hope that our dear Fanny's sense of duty to that beloved father will rouse her to exertion². For his sake,[105] and as the most acceptable proof of love to the spirit of her departed mother, she will try to be tranquil³ and resigned. Does she feel you to be a comfort to her, or is she too much overpowered for anything but solitude⁴?

Your account of Lizzy is very interesting. Poor child! One must hope the impression will be strong, and yet one's heart aches for a dejected mind of eight years old.

I suppose you see the corpse⁵? How does it appear? We are anxious to be assured that Edward will not attend the funeral, but when it comes to the point I think he must feel it impossible.

Your parcel shall set off on Monday, and I hope the shoes will fit; Martha and I both tried them on. I shall send you such of your mourning as I think most likely to be useful, reserving for myself your stockings and half the velvet⁶, in which selfish arrangement I know I am doing what you wish.

I am to be in bombazeen and crape, according to what we are told is universal here, and which agrees with Martha's previous observation. My mourning, however, will not impoverish⁷ me, for by having my velvet pelisse fresh lined and made up, I am sure I shall have no occasion this winter for anything new of that sort. I take my cloak for the lining⁸, and shall send yours on the chance[106] of its doing something of the same for you, though I believe your pelisse is in better repair than mine. One Miss

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