I told you in my last letter that Philadelphia was the cleanest place in the world.  The country along the banks of the Schuylkill (one of the rivers on which it stands; the other is the Delaware) is wild and beautiful, and the glory of the autumn woods what an eye that hath not seen can by no manner of means conceive.  I have for the last week had my room full of the most delicious flowers that could only be seen with us at midsummer, and here, in these last days of autumn, they are as abundant and fragrant, and the sun is as intensely hot and brilliant, as it should be, but never is, with us, in the month of July....

Dall went into a Quaker’s shop here the other day, when, after waiting upon her with the utmost attention and kindness, the master of the shop said, “And how doth Fanny?  I was in hopes she might have wanted something; we should have great pleasure in attending upon her.”  Was not that nice?  So to-day I went thither, and bought myself a lovely sober-colored gown.  This place, as you know, is the headquarters of Quakerdom, and all the enchanting nosegays come from “a Philadelphia friend,” the latter word dashed under, as if to indicate a member of the religious fraternity always called by that kindly title here....

I think my father has some idea of bringing out “The Star of Seville” here, and if he does I shall break my heart that it was not brought out first in England.  Emily always reproaches me with want of patriotism.  I have more than helps to make me cheerful here, and leaving England—­not home, and not you, but England, England—­for two years, seems to me now ridiculous, and fabulous, and preposterous, and disastrous.

I have finished my first volume of Graham, and I have finished this
letter.  God bless you!

Ever your affectionate
F. A. K.

PHILADELPHIA, November 2, 1832. 
DEAREST H——­,

I received your fifth letter to-day, and one from Dorothy, and one from Emily Fitzhugh....  My last letter to you was a sad one, and sad in a fashion that does not often occur to me.  I was troubled and anxious about my professional labor and its results, and that may be called a small sadness compared with some other with which I have lately become familiar.  Of course none of these anxieties have been removed, for some time must elapse before I can know on what plan my father determines with regard to Mr. Bartley’s proposal about this new theater.  It does not affect me personally, because I am thoroughly determined to take no part in any speculation of the kind; but the possibility of my father entering into any such scheme is care enough to “kill a cat,” and make a kitten miserable besides....  In all matters, but especially in matters of business, I hold frankness, straightforwardness, and decision as conducive to success, as consonant with right feeling; but I think men are much more cowardly than women, and believe a great deal more in policy,