ld consider that legitimately my own, just like
any other present that was made me....

"The Hunchback" is to be acted at the Francis Egertons', in London,
though I do not very well see how; for Bridgewater House is in process
of rebuilding, and their present residence in Belgrave Square, though
large enough for all social purposes, is far from being well adapted to
theatrical ones; insomuch--or, rather, so little--that it is my opinion
we shall be in each other's arms, laps, and pockets throughout the
whole performance, which will be inconvenient, and in some of the
situations slightly indecorous.

I have received this morning, my dear, your notice of the "Sonnambula,"
for which we are all very grateful to you. Give my love to my sister. I
expected her success as a matter of course, and did not anticipate much
annoyance to her from her present mode of life, ... because I have known
her derive extreme amusement and diversion from circumstances and
associates that would have been utterly distasteful to me. Her love and
perception of the ridiculous is not only positive enjoyment, but a
protection from annoyance and a mitigation of disgust. My father desires
his love to you, and bids me thank you for your kindness in sending him
the newspapers. With regard to that last song in the "Amina," of which
you speak as of a _tour de force_, it is hardly so much so, in point of
fact, as her execution of the whole part, which is too high for her; and
though she sings it admirably in spite of that, she cannot give it the
power and expression that she would if it lay more easily in her voice.
This, however, is the case with other music that she sings, and the
consequence is that, though she has great execution, and power, and
sweetness, and finish in the use of her artificial voice, it wants the
spontaneous force in high music of a naturally high organ.

Pray, did you ever pity me as much as you do Adelaide in the exercise of
her profession? You certainly never expressed the same amount of
compassion for my strolling destinies, nor did I ever hear you lament in
this kind over the fate of John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons, both of whom
had impertinences addressed to them by your Dublin gallery humorists.
Pray, what is the meaning of this want of feeling on your part for _us
others_, or your excess of it for Adelaide? Is it only singing histrions
who appear to you objects of compassion? Good-bye, dearest Harriet. I
have to write to Emily,