place, nothing is easier than to criticise by comparison, and hardly anything much more difficult than to form a correct judgment of any work of art (be it what it may) upon the foundation of abstract principles and fundamental rules of taste and criticism; for this sort of analysis is really a study.  Comparison is the criticism of the multitude, and I almost wonder at its being resorted to by a woman of such ability as Lady C——.  I only say this by the way, for to be compared with either Mrs. Siddons or Miss O’Neill is above my expectation.  They were both professional actresses, which I can hardly yet claim to be; women who had for years studied the mechanical part of their art, and rendered themselves proficients in their business; while although I have certainly had many advantages, in hearing the stage and acting constantly, tastefully, and thoughtfully discussed, I am totally inexperienced in all the minor technical processes, most necessary for the due execution of any dramatic conception.  As to my aunt Siddons—­look at her, H——­; look at her fine person, her beautiful face; listen to her magnificent voice; and supposing that I were as highly endowed with poetical dramatic imagination as she was (which I certainly am not), is it likely that there can ever be a shadow of comparison between her and myself, even when years may have corrected all that is at present crude and imperfect in my efforts?

This is my sole reply to her ladyship.  To you, dearest H——­, I can add that I came upon the stage quite uncertain as to the possession of any talent for it whatever; I do not think I am now deceived as to the quantity I can really lay claim to, by the exaggerated praises of the public, who have been too long deprived of any female object of special interest on the boards to be very nice about the first that is presented to them; nor am I unconscious of the amount of work that will be requisite to turn my abilities to their best use.  Wait; have patience; by and by, I hope, I shall do better.  It is very true that to be the greatest actress of my day is not the aim on which my happiness depends.  But having embraced this career, I think I ought not to rest satisfied with any degree of excellence short of what my utmost endeavor will enable me to attain in it....

My print, or rather the print of me, from Sir Thomas Lawrence’s drawing, is out.  He has promised you one, so I do not.  There are also coming out a series of sketches by Mr. Hayter, from my Juliet, with a species of avant propos written by Mrs. Jameson; this will interest you, and I will send you a copy of it when it is published.

I will tell you a circumstance of much anxious hope to us all just now, but as the result is yet uncertain, do not mention it.  We have a species of offer of a living for my brother John, who, you know, is going into the Church.  This is a consummation devoutly to be wished, and I most sincerely hope we may not be disappointed.