some distant friends, {159} whom she visited in the spring of that year,
thought that her health was somewhat impaired, and observed that she went
about her old haunts, and recalled old recollections connected with them
in a particular manner, as if she did not expect ever to see them again.
It is not surprising that, under these circumstances, some of her letters
were of a graver tone than had been customary with her, and expressed
resignation rather than cheerfulness. In reference to these troubles in
a letter to her brother Charles, after mentioning that she had been laid
up with an attack of bilious fever, she says: 'I live up stairs for the
present and am coddled. I am the only one of the party who has been so
silly, but a weak body must excuse weak nerves.' And again, to another
correspondent: 'But I am getting too near complaint; it has been the
appointment of God, however secondary causes may have operated.' But the
elasticity of her spirits soon recovered their tone. It was in the
latter half of that year that she addressed the two following lively
letters to a nephew, one while he was at Winchester School, the other
soon after he had left it:--

'Chawton, July 9, 1816.

'MY DEAR E.--Many thanks. A thank for every line, and as many to Mr.
W. Digweed for coming. We have been wanting very much to hear of your
mother, and are happy to find she continues to mend, but her illness
must have been a very serious one indeed. When she is really
recovered, she ought to try change of air, and come over to us. Tell
your father that I am very much obliged to him for his share of your
letter, and most sincerely join in the hope of her being eventually
much the better for her present discipline. She has the comfort
moreover of being confined in such weather as gives one little
temptation to be out. It is really too bad, and has been too bad for