of two hundred a year, seems to me the most desirable of earthly possessions; but, though this is certainly not a very wild vision of wealth or magnificence, I fear it is quite as little within my reach as southern palaces, or villas on the Mediterranean.

My father has hitherto been able to lay by nothing, and my assistance is absolutely necessary to him, ... and as long as I can in any way serve my father’s interests by remaining in my profession I shall do so, and must naturally look forward to a prolonged period of my present exertions.  It is useless pondering upon this, but I have been led to do so lately from a letter which my father received from Mr. Bartley, the stage manager of Covent Garden, the other day, which contained the plan of a new theatrical speculation, in which he is most anxious to engage us.  I know not how my father feels upon this subject....  I, however, am well determined that neither Mr. L——­’s opinion, nor that of the whole world besides, should induce me to own the value of a truss of straw in any theater.  My father’s whole life has been given over to trouble and anxiety in consequence of his proprietorship and involvement in that ruinous concern, Covent Garden; and now, when his remaining health and strength will no more than serve to lay up the means of subsistence when health and strength are gone, the idea of his loading himself with such a burden of bitterness as the proprietorship of a new theater makes me perfectly miserable.  For my own part, I am determined to own neither part nor lot in any such venture:  I will lend or give anything that I may earn to it, and I will act, at half the price I might get elsewhere, for it, if my father wishes me to do so; but not a demonstrable cent per cent profit should induce me to run such a risk of cursing the day that I was born, as to become owner of a theater.  I write you all this (and I have written more than enough about it) because it has been lately a subject of much anxious meditation to me.  The matter is at present without settled form or plan, but the proposal of such a scheme has caused me deep regret and anxiety....  I am going to act to-morrow in “The Hunchback;” Thursday, Mrs. Beverley; Friday, Lady Townley; Saturday, Juliet; Monday, Julia again; and Tuesday, Bizarre in “The Inconstant;” which ends our engagement here.  This is pretty hard work, is it not? besides always one, and sometimes two rehearsals of a morning.

We begin our second engagement in New York on the 7th of November.  Don’t forget that the 27th of that month is my birthday, and that if you neglect to drink my health, I shall probably die, for want of your good wishes to keep me alive.

     We act in Boston on the 3d of December; “further than that the
     deponent sayeth not.”