self a
sense of sympathy thrilled powerfully and strangely through my heart, as
I looked steadfastly at them before opening my lips; but that, on
wondering afterwards _what_ I might, could, would, or should have said
to them from myself, I never could think of anything but two words: "Be
good!" which as a preface to the reading of one of Shakespeare's plays
("The Merry Wives of Windsor," for instance) might have startled them.
Often and strongly as the temptation recurred to me, I never could think
of anything better worth saying to my audience. I have some hope that
sometimes in the course of the reading I said it effectually, without
shocking them by a departure from my proper calling, or deserving the
rebuke of "Ne sutor ultra crepidam."

In February, 1828, I fell ill of the measles, of which the following
note to Miss S---- is a record.

MY DEAREST H----,

I am in a great hurry, because my parcel is not made up yet, and I
expect your brother's emissary to call at every moment. I send you
my play, also an album of mine, also an unfinished sketch of me,
also a copy of my will. The play you must not keep, because it is
my only copy; neither must you keep my album, because I want to
finish one of the pieces of verse begun in it; my picture--such as
it is--begun, but never finished, by Dick ----, I thought you would
like better than nothing. He has finished one that is a very good
likeness of me, but it was done for my mother, or I should have
wished you to have it. My will I made last week, while I was in bed
with the measles, and want you to keep that.

I have been very ill for the last fortnight, but am well again now.
I am pressed for time to-day, but will soon write to you in
earnest.

I'm afraid you'll find my play very long; when my poor father began
cutting it, he looked ruefully at it, and said, "There's plenty of
it, Fan," to which my reply is Madame de Sevigne's, "Si j'eusse eu
plus de temps, je ne t'aurais pas ecrit si longuement." Dear H----,
if you knew how I thought of you, and the fresh, sweet mayflowers
with which we filled our baskets at Heath Farm, while I lay parched
and full of pain and fever in my illness!

Yours ever,
FANNY.

My beloved aunt Dall nursed and tended me in my sickness with unwe