ause of the equinoctial gales, which I thought we
should both be the better for knowing, but could find nothing about
them; can you tell me of any book or treatise upon this subject?

My dear H----, shut your eyes while you read this, because if you
don't, they'll never shut again. Constance is what I am to play for
my benefit. I am horribly frightened; it is a cruel weight to lay
upon my shoulders: however, there is nothing for it but doing my
best, and leaving the rest to fate. I almost think now I could do
Lady Macbeth better. I am like poor little Arthur, who begged to
have his tongue cut off rather than have his eyes put out; that
last scene of Constance--think what an actress one should be to do
it justice! Pray for me.

And so the Poles are crushed! what a piteous horror! Will there
never come a day of retribution for this!

Mrs. Jameson came and sat with me some time yesterday evening, and
read me a good deal of her work on Shakespeare's female characters;
they are very pleasing sketches--outlines--but her criticism and
analysis are rather graceful than profound or powerful. Tuesday
next my mother and I spend the evening with her; Wednesday, we dine
at Sir John Macdonald's; Thursday, I act Mrs. Haller; Friday, we
have an evening party at home; Saturday, I play Beatrice; Monday,
Constance (come up for it!); Tuesday, we dine with Lord Melbourne;
and this is as much of the book of fate as is unrolled to me at
present.

Mrs. Harry came here to-day; it is the first time I have seen her
this month; she is looking wretchedly, and talks of returning to
Edinburgh. My first feeling at hearing this was joy that I shall
not go there and find the face and voice for ever associated with
Edinburgh in my heart away from it. But I am not really glad, for
it is the failure of some plan of hers which obliges her to do
this. I have the loves of all to give you, and they are all very
troublesome, crying, "Give mine separately," "Don't lump mine;" so
please take them each separately and singly. I have been sobbing my
heart out over Constance this morning, and act Fazio to-night,
which is hard work.

Your affectionate

F.

GREAT RUSSELL STR