and surely God loves beauty, for from the greatest to the smallest it pervades all His works; and poetry, painting, and sculpture are not as beautiful as the things they reproduce, because of the imperfect nature-of their creator—­man; though his works are only good in proportion as he puts his soul—­i.e., the Spirit of God—­inspiration into them.

Your affectionate

F. A. K.

GREAT RUSSELL STREET, February 17, 1832. 
MY DEAREST H——­,

“Francis I.” will come out on the 1st of March, so your starting on the 25th will do quite well for that; but it is right I should tell you what may possibly deter you from coming.  A report prevails that the cholera is approaching London, and though I cannot say that I feel nervous upon the subject, perhaps, under these circumstances, you had rather or better not come.

There have been many assertions and contradictions about it, of course, and I know nothing but that such a rumor is prevalent, and if this should cause you or (what is more likely) yours an instant’s hesitation, you must give up your visit.  I know our disappointment will be mutual and equal, and I am sure you will not inflict it either upon yourself or me without adequate reason, so I will say no more about it.

The reason for bringing out “Francis I.” now is that Milman has undertaken to review it in the next Quarterly, and Murray wishes the production of the play at the theater to be simultaneous with the publication of the Review.

     My wrath and annoyance upon the subject have subsided, and I have
     now taken refuge with restored equanimity in my “cannot help it.” 
     Certainly I said and did all I could to hinder it.

I do not feel at all nervous about the fate of the play—­no English public will damn an attempt of that description, however much it may deserve it; and paradoxical as it may sound, a London audience, composed as it for the most part is of pretty rough, coarse, and hard particles, makes up a most soft-hearted and good-natured whole, and invariably in the instance of a new actor or a new piece—­whatever partial private ill will may wish to do—­the majority of the spectators is inclined to patience and indulgence.  I do not mean that I shall not turn exceedingly sick when I come to set my foot upon the stage that night; but it will only be with a slight increase of the alarm which I undergo with every new part.  My poor mother will be the person to be pitied; I wish she would take an opiate and go to bed, instead of to the theater that night....

I was at a party last night where I met Lord Hill (then commander of the forces), who had himself presented to me, and who renewed in person the promise he had sent me through Sir John Macdonald (who was adjutant-general), to exert and interest himself to the utmost of his power about Henry’s commission.