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It seems so curious to me to be obliged to write all this
about myself! As if this narrative were the narrative of MY
life! But my little body will soon fall into the background
now.
Six quiet years (I find I am saying it for the second time)
I had passed at Greenleaf, seeing in those around me, as it
might be in a looking-glass, every stage of my own growth
and change there, when, one November morning, I received
this letter. I omit the date.
Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn
Madam,
Jarndyce and Jarndyce
Our clt Mr. Jarndyce being abt to rece into his house,
under an Order of the Ct of Chy, a Ward of the Ct in this
cause, for whom he wishes to secure an elgble compn, di-
rects us to inform you that he will be glad of your serces in
the afsd capacity.
We have arrngd for your being forded, carriage free, pr
eight o’clock coach from Reading, on Monday morning
next, to White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, London, where one
of our clks will be in waiting to convey you to our offe as
above.
We are, Madam, Your obedt Servts,
Kenge and Carboy
Miss Esther Summerson
Oh, never, never, never shall I forget the emotion this let-
ter caused in the house! It was so tender in them to care so
much for me, it was so gracious in that father who had not
forgotten me to have made my orphan way so smooth and

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