steadfast anchor for your hopes, I ought not, perhaps, to say, “Do not despond.”  Yet, dearest H——­, do not despond:  is there any occasion when despair is justified?  I know how lightly all soothing counsel must be held, in a case of such sorrow as yours, but among fellow-Christians such words still have some significance; for the most unworthy of that holy profession may point unfalteringly to the only consolations adequate to the need of those far above them in every endowment of mind and heart and religious attainment.  Dear H——­, I hardly know how to tell you how much I feel for you, how sincerely I hope your fears may prove groundless, and how earnestly I pray that, should they prove prophetic, you may be enabled to bear the affliction, to meet which I doubt not strength will be given you.  This is all I dare say; those who love you best will hardly venture to say more.  To put away entirely the idea of an evil which one may be called upon at any moment to encounter would hardly be wise, even if it were possible, in this world where every happiness one enjoys is but a loan, the repayment of which may be exacted at the very moment, perhaps, when we are forgetting in its possession the precarious tenure by which alone it is ours.

My dear father and mother have both been very unwell; the former is a little recovered, but the latter is still in a sad state of bodily suffering and mental anxiety.  Our two boys are well and happy, and I am very well and not otherwise than happy.  I regret to say Mrs. Henry Siddons will leave London in a very short time; this is a great loss to me.  I owe more to her than I can ever repay; for though abundant pains had been bestowed upon me previously to my going to her, it was she who caused to spring whatever scattered seeds of good were in me, which almost seemed as if they had been cast into the soil in vain.

My dear H——­, I am going on the stage:  the nearest period talked of for my debut is the first of October, at the opening of the theater; the furthest, November; but I almost think I should prefer the nearest, for it is a very serious trial to look forward to, and I wish it were over.  Juliet is to be my opening part, but not to my father’s Romeo; there would be many objections to that; he will do Mercutio for me.  I do not enter more fully upon this, because I know how few things can be of interest to you in your present state of feeling, but I wished you not to find the first notice of my entrance on the stage of life in a newspaper.  God bless you, dearest H——­, and grant you better hopes.

                        Your most affectionate
          
                                                     FANNY.