to every new part that was assigned to
me on first reading it. But I am sure Miss Mitford had no cause to
regret that I had not undertaken this; the success of her play in my
hands ran a risk such as her fine play of "Rienzi," in those of Mr.
Young or Mr. Macready, could never have incurred; and it was well for
her that to their delineation of her Roman tribune, and not mine of her
Aragonese lady, her reputation with the public as a dramatic writer was
confided.

I have mentioned in this last letter a morning visit from Chantrey, the
eminent sculptor, who was among our frequenter. His appearance and
manners were simple and almost rustic, and he was shy and silent in
society, all which may have been results of his obscure birth and early
want of education. It was to Sir Francis Chantrey that my father's
friends applied for the design of the beautiful silver vase which they
presented to him at the end of his professional career. The sculptor's
idea seemed to me a very happy and appropriate one, and the design was
admirably executed; it consisted of a simple and elegant figure of
Hamlet on the cover of the vase, and round it, in fine relief, the
"Seven Ages of Man," from Jacques's speech in "As You Like It;" the
whole work was very beautiful, and has a double interest for me, as that
not only of an eminent artist, but a kind friend of my father's.

GREAT RUSSELL STREET, March 7, 1831.
MY DEAREST H----,

With regard to change as we contemplate it when parting from those
we love, I confess I should shrink from the idea of years
intervening before you and I met again; not that I apprehend any
diminution of our affection, but it would be painful to be no
longer young, or to have grown _suddenly_ old to each other. But I
hope this will not be so; I hope we may go on meeting often enough
for that change which is inevitable to be long imperceptible; I
hope we may be allowed to go on _wondering_ together, till we meet
where you will certainly be happy, if wonder is for once joined to
_knowledge_. I remember my aunt Whitelock saying that when she went
to America she left my father a toddling thing that she used to
dandle and carry about; and the first time she saw him after her
return, he had a baby of his own in his arms. That sort of thing
makes one's heart jump into one's mouth with dismay; it seems as if
all the