ning at what I
cannot reach, how can I utter, or write, upon such a subject as this! Do
not, I beg, ask me such questions, at least in writing; speaking to you,
there might be times--seldom, indeed, but some--when I might stammer
out part of what I felt on such a subject; but I _cannot_ write about
it--it is impossible.

I have many things to tell you, for which I am too tired to-night, but I
will tell you them to-morrow. God bless you. It has just occurred to me
that I have a morning reading to-morrow, and some visits to pay first,
and I must go to the workhouse and see that boy once more, and satisfy
myself that whatever he is put to hereafter is his own choice; and so I
shall have no time to write to you to-morrow, and therefore I will
finish my letter to-night.... I had an application from Dr. Hawtrey, the
Provost of Eton, through Mary Ann Thackeray, the other day, to give some
readings to the Eton boys, which I have delightedly agreed to do--but of
course refused to be paid for what will be such a great pleasure to me;
whereupon Dr. Hawtrey writes that my "generosity to his boys takes his
breath away." I think _I_ ought to pay for what will be so very charming
as reading Shakespeare to those children....

I had a letter from Mrs. Jameson yesterday, from whom I have heard
nothing since she left my house....

And now, dear Hal, I have told you all my news,--oh no, I haven't
either:--I went last night, it being my holiday, to hear Mr. Warren, the
author of "Ten Thousand a Year," and the Recorder of Hull, address the
members of the Mechanics' Institute on the duties, privileges,
difficulties, dignity, and consolations of labor. I was greatly
delighted. I sat on the platform, opposite that large concourse of
working men and women--laborers well acquainted by daily experience with
the subject of the eloquent speaker's discourses,--and was deeply
touched by the silent attention and intelligent interest with which, for
two hours, they listened to his admirable address.

I have got it, and shall bring it down and read it to you. Good-bye. Do
not fail to let me know what I can do for Dorothy. Good-night.

Ever as ever yours,
FANNY.

HULL, Thursday, December 2nd, 1847.

My chest and throat, my dear Hal, are well. I have still a slight cough,
but nothing to signify....

I never acted in