wish they would leave off trying to take my picture.  My face is too bad for anything but nature, and never was intended for still life.  The intention, however, is very kind, and the offer one that can scarcely be refused.  I wish you would come and keep me awake through my sittings.

     Our engagements—­social and professional—­are a dinner party at the
     Mayows to-morrow; an evening party on Monday; Tuesday, the opera;
     Wednesday I act Isabella; Thursday, a dinner at Mr. Harness’s;
     Friday I act Bianca; Saturday we have a dinner party at home; the
     Monday following I act Constance; Tuesday there is a dance at the
     Fitzhughs’; and sundry dissipations looming in the horizon.

Good-by, and God bless you, my dear H——.  I look forward to our
meeting at Ardgillan, three months hence, with delight, and am
affectionately yours,

F. A. K.

A——­ and I begin our riding lessons on Wednesday next.  We have got pretty dark-brown habits and red velvet waistcoats, and shall look like two nice little robin-redbreasts on horseback; all I dread is that she may be frightened to death, which might militate against her enjoyment, perhaps.

What you say about my brother John is very true; and though my first care is for his life, my next is for his happiness, which I believe more likely to be secured by his remaining in the midst of action and excitement abroad, than in any steady pursuit at home.  My benefit was not as good as it ought to have been; it was not sufficiently advertised, and it took place on the night of the reading of the Reform Bill, which circumstance was exceedingly injurious to it.

To-day is John’s birthday.  I was in hopes it might not occur to my mother, but she alluded to it yesterday.  I was looking at that little sketch of him in her room this morning, with a heavy heart.  His lot seems now cast indeed, and most strangely.  I would give anything to see him and hear his voice again, but I fear to wish him back again among us.  I am afraid that he would neither be happy himself, nor make others so.

GREAT RUSSELL STREET, 1831.

It is a long time, dear H——­, since I have written to you, and I feel it so with self-reproach.  To-day, except paying a round of visits with my mother and acting this evening, I have nothing to prevent my talking with you in tolerable peace and quiet—­so here I am.  You have no idea what a quantity of “things to be done” has been crowded into the last fortnight:  studying Camiola, rehearsing for two hours and a half every other day, riding for two hours at a time, and sitting for my picture nearly as long, running from place to place about my dresses, and now having Lady Teazle and Mrs. Oakley to get up, immediately,—­all this, with my nightly work or nightly gayeties, makes an amount of occupation of one sort and another