y time I
open and shut it, I am compelled to ink my fingers all over, in order to
extract this admirable stopper from the mouth of the bottle, or crane it
back into its patent position in the lid, where it won't stay. 'Tis
quite an invaluable invention for the practice of patience.

I have nothing whatever to tell you. Two days ago my father informed me
he had determined to send me alone to Italy. Since then I have not heard
a word more from him upon the subject. He read at Highgate yesterday
evening for the second time this week, but, as he had dinner engagements
each time at the houses of people I did not know, I did not accompany
him. I think he reads to-morrow at Islington, and if so I shall ask him
to let me go with him. He reads again on Thursday next, at Highgate....

I believe my eyes are growing larger as I grow older, and I don't wonder
at it, I stare so very wide so very often, Mrs. ---- talks sentimental
morality about everything; her notions are _pretty near_ right, which is
the same thing as pretty near wrong (for "a miss," you know, "is as good
as a mile"). She is near right enough to amaze me how she contrives to
be so much nearer wrong; she is like a person trying to remember a tune,
and singing it not quite correctly, while you know it better, and can't
sing it at all, and are ready to go mad with mistakes which you
perceive, without being able to rectify them: that is a musical
experience of which you, not being musical, don't know the torture....

Did I tell you that Mrs. Jameson showed me the other day a charming
likeness of my sister which she had made--like that pretty thing she did
of me--with all the dresses of her parts? If I could have done a great
littleness, I could have gone down on my knees and begged for it; I
wished for it so much.

She spoke to me in great tribulation about a memoir of Mrs. Harry
Siddons which it seems she was to have undertaken, but which Harry
Siddons (her son) and William Grant (her son-in-law) do not wish
written. Mrs. Jameson seems to feel some special annoyance upon this
subject, and says that Mrs. Harry was herself anxious to have such a
record made of her; and this surprises me so much, knowing Mrs. Harry as
I thought I did, that I find it difficult to believe it....

Do you remember, after our reading together Balzac's "Recherche de
l'Absolu," your objecting to the character of Madame de Claees, and very
justly, a certain meretricious taint which Balzac sel