The words in inverted commas at the end of this letter had reference to some strictures Miss S——­ had made upon my carriage, and to a family joke against me in consequence of my having once said, in speaking of my desire to ride, that I should not care to be an angel in heaven unless I could be an “angel on horseback.”  My invariable description of a woman riding was “a happy woman,” and after much experience of unhappiness, certainly not dissipated by equestrian exercise, I still agree with Wordsworth that “the horse and rider are a happy pair.”  After acting the Grecian Daughter for some time I altered my attitude in the last scene, after the murder of Dionysius, more to my own satisfaction:  instead of dropping the arm that held the dagger by my side, I raised the weapon to heaven, as if appealing to the gods for justification and tendering them, as it were, the homage of my deed; of course I still continued to vail my eyes and turn my head away from the sight of my victim.

               JAMES STREET, BUCKINGHAM GATE, Saturday, February 20th. 
     DEAREST H——­,

I need hardly apologize to you for my long silence, for I am sure that you will have understood it to have proceeded from no want of inclination on my part to answer your last, but from really not having had half an hour at my command in which to do so.  I have thought, too (although that has not prevented my writing), much upon the tenor of your letter, and the evident depression it was written in, and I hardly know how to resolve:  whether I ought not to forbear wearying you with matters which every way are discordant with your own thoughts and feelings, or whether it is better, by inducing you to answer me, to give you some motive, however trifling, for exertion.  Dearest H——­, if the effort of writing to me is too painful to you, do not do it.  I give you a most disinterested counsel, for I have told you more than once how much I prize your letters, and you know it is true.  Still, I do not think my “wish is father to my thought” when I say that I think it is not good for you to lose entirely even such an interest as I am to you.  I say “even such an interest,” because I believe your trouble must have rendered me and my pursuits, for the present at least, less likely than they have been to occupy a place in your thoughts.  But ’tis for you to decide; if my letters weary or annoy you, tell me so, dear H——­, and I will not write to you until you can “follow my paces” better.  If you do not like to make the exertion of answering me, I will still continue to let you know my proceedings, and take it for granted that you will not cease to love me and think of me.  Dear H——­, I shall see you this summer again; you, and yours, whom I love for your sake.  I shall go on with this letter, because if you are inclined for a gossip you can read it; and if not, it may perhaps amuse your invalid.  I have been uncommonly gay, for me, this winter, and I dare say shall continue