in such scenes. I am glad Lily
made and wore the wreath of lilac blossoms; I was sure it would
become her. Give her my love and thanks for having done as I asked
her. Oh, do not wish Ardgillan fifteen miles from London! Even for
the sake of seeing you, I would not bring you near the smoke and
dirt and comparative confinement of such a situation; I would not
take you from your sea and sky and trees, even to have you within
reach of me.

Certainly it is the natural evil of the human mind, and not the
supernatural agency in the story of its development, that makes
Macbeth so terrible; it is the hideousness of a wicked soul, into
which enter more foul ingredients than are held in the witches'
caldron of abominations, that makes the play so tremendous. I wish
we had read that great work together. How it contrasts with what we
did read, the "Tempest," that brightest creation of a wholesome
genius in its hour of happiest inspiration!

I believe some people think it presumptuous to pray for any one but
themselves; but it seems to me strange to share every, feeling with
those we love and not associate them with our best and holiest
aspirations; to remember them everywhere but there where it is of
the utmost importance to us all to be remembered; to desire all
happiness for them, and not to implore in their behalf the Giver of
all good. I think I pray even more fervently for those I love than
for myself. Pray for me, my dear H----, and God bless you and give
you strength and peace. Your affectionate

F. A. K.

I have not seen the railroad yet; if you do not write soon to me,
we shall be gone to Manchester.

My objection to the dramatic profession on the score of its uselessness,
in this letter, reminds me of what my mother used to tell me of Miss
Brunton, who afterward became Lady Craven; a very eccentric as well as
attractive and charming woman, who contrived, too, to be a very charming
actress, in spite of a prosaical dislike to her business, which used to
take the peculiar and rather alarming turn of suddenly, in the midst of
a scene, saying aside to her fellow-actors, "What nonsense all this is!
Suppose we don't go on with it." This singular expostulation my mother
said she always expected to see followed up by the sadden exit of her