I am anxious to close this letter before I go out, and shall only add,
in replying to your next question of whether I ever feel any desire to
return to the stage, _Never_.... My very nature seems to me dramatic. I
cannot speak without gesticulating and making faces, any more than an
Italian can; I am fond, moreover, of the excitement of _acting_,
personating interesting characters in interesting situations, giving
vivid expression to vivid emotion, realizing in my own person noble and
beautiful imaginary beings, and _uttering the poetry of Shakespeare_.
But the stage is not only this, but much more that is not this; and that
much more is not only by no means equally agreeable, but positively
odious to me, and always was.

Good-by. God bless you and yours.

Believe me always yours most truly,
FANNY BUTLER.

HARLEY STREET, May 1st, 1842.
MY DEAREST HARRIET,

I have just despatched a letter to Emily, from whom I I have had two
already since she reached Bannisters. She writes chiefly of her mother,
whose efforts to bear her trial are very painful to poor Emily, whose
fewer years and excellent mental habits render such exertions easier to
her. To no one can self-control under such sorrow ever be easy.

You ask about my going to the Drawing-room, which happened thus: The
Duke of Rutland dined some little time ago at the Palace, and, speaking
of the late party at Belvoir, mentioned me, when the Queen asked why I
didn't have myself presented. The duke called the next day at our house,
but we did not see him, and he being obliged to go out of town, left a
message for me with Lady Londonderry, to the effect that her Majesty's
interest about me (curiosity would have been the more exact word, I
suspect) rendered it imperative that I should go to the Drawing-room;
and, indeed, Lady Londonderry's authoritative "Of course you'll go,"
given in her most _gracious_ manner, left me no doubt whatever as to my
duty in that respect, especially as the message duly delivered by her
was followed up by a letter from the duke, from Newmarket, who, from the
midst of his bets, handicaps, sweepstakes, and cups, wrote me over again
all that he had bid the marchioness tell me. Wherefore, having no
objection whatever to go to Court (except, indeed, the expense of my
dress, the idea of which caused me no slight trep