I am to act Juliet to-morrow, and Calista on Thursday; Friday and Saturday I am to act Mrs. Haller and Lady Townley at Brighton.  I shall see the sea, that’s one comfort, and it will be something to live upon for some time to come.  Next Wednesday week I am to come out in Bianca, in Milman’s “Fazio.”  Do you know the play?  It is very powerful, and my part is a very powerful one indeed.  I have hopes it may succeed greatly.  Mr. Warde is to be my Fazio, for, I hear, people object to my having my father’s constant support, and wish to see me act alone; what geese, to be sure!  I wonder whether they think my father has hold of strings by the means of which he moves my arms and legs!  I am very glad something likely to strike the public is to be given before “Inez de Castro” (a tragedy of Miss Mitford’s), for it will need all the previous success of a fine play and part to carry us safely through that.

     I have not seen Mr. Murray again; I conclude he is out of town just
     now.

We have made all inquiries about poor dear A——­’s trunk, and of course, as soon as we hear of it, it will be sent to her; I am very sorry for her, poor dear little child, but I advise her, when she does get them, to put on each of her new dresses for an hour by turns, and sit opposite the glass in them.  Good-by, dear H——.  Your affectionate

F. K.

                              GREAT RUSSELL STREET, 6th January, 1831. 
     DEAREST H——­,

I have only time to say two words to you, for I am in the midst of preparations for our flight to Brighton, to-morrow.  Thank you for your last letter; I liked it very much, and will answer it at length when we come back to town.

Mr. Murray has got my MSS., but I have yet heard nothing about it from him.  My fire is not in that economical invention, the “miserable basket” [an iron frame fitting inside our common-sized grate to limit the extravagant consumption of coal], but well spread out in the large comfortable grate; yet I am sitting with my door and windows all wide open; it is a lovely, bright, mild spring day.  I do not lose my time any more of a morning watching the fire kindling, for the housemaid lights it before I get out of bed, so my poetry and philosophy are robbed of a most interesting subject of meditation.

With regard to what you say about A——­, I do not know that I expected her to love, though I was sure she would admire, nature; she is very young yet, and her quick, observant mind and tendency to wit and sarcasm make human beings more amusing, if not more interesting, to her than inanimate objects.  It is not the beauty of nature alone, as it appeals merely to our senses, that produces that passionate love for it which induces us to prefer communion with it to the intercourse of our fellows.  The elevated trains of thought, and the profound and sublime aspirations which the