I have just had a charming letter from Charles Sedgwick; if I can remember, I will keep it to show it to you.
Order your boots, or anything else, to be sent to me, dear Hal, but you know I shall not be with you yet for a month, and possibly not then; for though no pleasant engagement (how nice it is of you to suggest that!) would interfere with my coming to St. Leonard's, unpleasant ones might; any opportunity of making money certainly would, and such may occur to interfere with my present plans, which stand thus: I return to town to-morrow (there is but one evening train, so I must travel all night to rehearse on Monday morning for the "Shakespeare Memorial Night," on Tuesday); I shall remain in London a week, and on the following Monday go down to Bannisters for a fortnight, which will bring me within a few days of the expiration of my term in Orchard Street, and I shall return from Bannisters to move myself; on the following Monday, the 3d of January, I will, please God and you, come down to St. Leonard's....
I was so ill in spirit yesterday that I could not write to you. I am better to-day. Thank God, my patience and courage do not often or long forsake me!...
—— has written again to borrow money of me; and that impudent Liverpool manager, who borrowed, i.e. did not pay me, my last night's earnings, when you were there with me, has written to say that, if I will go to Liverpool and act for his benefit, he will pay me what he owes me; to which I have replied that, when he has paid me what he owes me, we will see about further transactions with each other. Certainly "Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time."
Oh, my dear! in Parker's "Discourse upon Religion"—the book I told you I was reading—I light upon this passage: "The indolent and the sensual love to have a visible master in spiritual things, who will spare them the agony of thought." Is not that definition of thought after my own heart, and just as I should have written it?
God bless you. Give my love to dear Dorothy.
Ever as ever yours,
Fanny.
Dear Harriet,
I have not yet read either of Mrs. Gaskell's books, but I mean to do so. I have just got through, with unbounded amazement, a book called "Realities," written by a Miss L——, for whom Lady M—— has taken a great fancy. A more extraordinary production—realities with a vengeance—I certainly have seldom read; and the book is in such contrast with the manner and appearance of the authoress that it will be a long time before I get over my surprise at both.