FANNY.

29, KING STREET, Tuesday, 8th.

Yesterday I had plenty of questions to answer in my letter to you;
to-day I have not one.... My beloved friend, I know that if your power
to serve me equalled your desire to do so, I should be borne in the arms
of angels, "lest at any time I struck my foot against a stone." But do
not, my dearest Harriet, let your love for me forget that faith without
which we could neither bear our own trials nor the trials of those we
love. "In the great hand of God we all stand," and are fitly cared for
by Him, our Father. I should be much ashamed of the sudden flood of
cowardice that overwhelmed me two days ago at the difficult and
cheerless prospect before me, but that it was, I am sure, the result of
nervous disorder, and the jarring I got the other day from that dreadful
Antigone.

You know I seldom waste time in blaming myself, and tarry but a brief
space in the idle disconsolateness of repentance. I must try to be less
weak, and less troubled about my prospects. I wrote you yesterday of the
proposal I had received from Mr. Maddox. He made no offer of terms. I
have heard nothing further from him, and augur ill from his silence. I
suppose he will not pay me what I ask, and thinks it useless to offer me
less. I shall be very sorry for this; but if I find it so, will apply to
Mr. Webster, or some other manager, for employment; and if I fail with
them, must make a desperate effort about my readings.

But for my sister's entreaty that I would remain here till she returns
from Italy, and my own great desire to see her again, I would _confront_
the winter passage across the Atlantic, in hopes of finding work in
America, and living without using up the little I have already gathered
together. But I cannot bear to go before she comes to England.... I was
surprised by a visit from Lord Hardwicke yesterday; it is years since I
have seen him. I knew and liked him formerly, as Captain Yorke. He is as
blunt and plain-spoken as ever, and retains his sailor-like manner in
spite of his earldom, which he hadn't when I met him last.... Henry
Greville is coming to tea with me this evening, and I promised to read
him my translation of "Mary Stuart." I hope he may like it as well as
you did. Lady Dacre was here this afternoon; she has been dreadfully
ill, and looks an old woman now, for the first time, at eighty--that is
not too