These ten years back he has stood to me almost in my father's place; and now the place is empty--doubly.
Since the birth of my child (seven years since) he has allowed us--rather, insisted on our accepting (for my husband was loth)--a hundred a year, and without it we should have often been in hard straits.

His last act was to leave us eleven thousand pounds; and I do not doubt but that, if he had not known our preference of a simple mode of life and a freedom from worldly responsibilities (born artists as we both are), the bequest would have been greater still.

As it is, we shall be relieved from pecuniary pressure, and your affectionateness will be glad to hear this, but I shall have more comfort from the consideration of it presently than I can at this instant, when the loss, the empty chair, the silent voice, the apparently suspended sympathy, must still keep painfully uppermost.
You will wonder at a paragraph from the 'Athenaeum,' which Robert thought out of taste until he came to understand the motive of it--that there had been (two days previous to its appearance) a brutal attack on the _will_, to the effect that literary persons had been altogether overlooked in the dispositions of the testator, in consequence of his, being a disappointed literary pretender himself.

Therefore we were brought forward, you see, together with Barry Cornwall and Dr.Southey, producing a wrong impression on the other side--only I can't blame the 'Athenaeum' writer for it; nor can anyone, I think.

The effect, however, to ourselves is most uncomfortable, as we are overwhelmed with 'congratulations' on all sides, just as if we had not lost a dear, tender, faithful friend and relative--just as if, in fact, some stranger had made us a bequest as a tribute to our poetry.