without suffering, and in full consciousness.... I wonder if she is
gone where Milton and Shakespeare are, to whose worship she was
priestess all her life--whose thoughts were her familiar thoughts,
whose words were her familiar words. I wonder how much more she is
allowed to know of all things now than she did while she was here.
As I looked up into the bright sky to-day, while my father and
mother were sadly recalling the splendor of her day of beauty and
great public power, I thought of the unlimited glory she perhaps
now beheld, of the greater holiness and happiness I trust she now
enjoys, and said in my heart, "It must be well to be as she is." I
had never thought it must be well to be as she _was_....

As soon as the news came my father went off to see what he could do
for Cecilia, poor thing, and to bring her here, if she can be
persuaded to leave Baker Street. He was not much shocked, though
naturally deeply grieved by the event; my aunt has now been ill so
long that any day might have brought the termination of the
protracted process of her death. When he returned he said Cecilia
was composed and quiet, but would not leave the house at present. I
have written to Lady Francis to decline going to Oatlands, which we
were to have done this week.

At dinner my father told me some of the arrangements he has made
for the summer. We are to act at Bristol, Bath, Exeter, Plymouth,
and Southampton. He then said, "Suppose we take steamer thence to
Marseilles, and so on to Naples?" My heart jumped into my mouth at
the thought; but how should I ever come back again?... Everything
here is _so ugly_, even without comparison with that which is
beautiful elsewhere; from Italy how should one come back to live in
London?

_Thursday, June 9th._-- ... And so I am to act Lady Macbeth! I feel
as if I were standing up by the great pyramid of Egypt to see how
tall I am! However, it must be done; perhaps I may even do it less
ill than Constance--the greater intensity of the character may
perhaps render majesty less _indispensable_. Power (if one had
enough of it) might atone for insufficient dignity. Lady Macbeth
made herself a queen by dint of wickedness; Constance was royal
born--a radical difference, which ought to be in my favor. But
dear, dear, dear, wha