EST H----,

I have this instant received your letter, and, contrary to John's
wise rule of never answering an epistle till three days after he
receives it, I sit down to write, to talk, to be with you. Pray,
when your potatoes flourish, your fires are put out by the sun, and
your hills are half hid in warm mist, wish one hearty wish for me,
such as I spend by the dozen on you. I confess I am disappointed,
as far as I can be with a letter of yours, at finding you had not
yet received my parcel, for my vanity has been in considerable
anxiety respecting your judgment on my production. Now that the
effervescence of my poetical _furor_ has subsided, and that
repeated perusals have taken a little of the charm of novelty from
my play, my own opinion of it is that it is a clever performance
_for so young a person_, but nothing more. The next will, I hope,
be better, and I think you will agree with me in regard to this.
Dearest H----, in my last letter want of time and room prevented my
enlarging on my hint about the stage, but as far as my own
determination goes at present, I think it is the course that I
shall most likely pursue. You know that independence of mind and
body seems to me the great desideratum of life; I am not patient of
restraint or submissive to authority, and my head and heart are
engrossed with the idea of exercising and developing the literary
talent which I think I possess. This is meat, drink, and sleep to
me; my world, in which I live, and have my happiness; and,
moreover, I hope, by means of fame (the prize for which I pray). To
a certain degree it may be my means of procuring benefits of a more
substantial nature, which I am by no means inclined to estimate at
less than their worth. I do not think I am fit to marry, to make an
obedient wife or affectionate mother; my imagination is paramount
with me, and would disqualify me, I think, for the every-day,
matter-of-fact cares and duties of the mistress of a household and
the head of a family. I think I should be unhappy and the cause of
unhappiness to others if I were to marry. I cannot swear I shall
never fall in love, but if I do I will fall out of it again, for I
do not think I shall ever so far lose sight of my best interest and
happiness as to enter into a relation for which I fee