grew from my heart and not my understanding.  But in reading “King Lear,” the iteration in the expression of deep grief confirms me in the opinion that it is natural to all men, and not peculiar to myself, for Shakespeare has done it.  In the scene where Gloster tells Cornwall and Regan of Edgar’s supposed wickedness, the wretched old father uses frequent repetition, as, “Oh, madam, my old heart is cracked; it’s cracked!” “Oh, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!” “I know not, madam:  ’tis too bad, too bad!” and in the last scene, that most piteous and terrible close that story ever had, the poor old king, in his moanings over Cordelia, repeats his words over and over again.  I defend my conception, not my execution of it; and true and touching as these repetitions of Shakespeare’s are, mine may be “damnable iteration,” and nothing else.  Heart-broken sorrow has but few words; utter bereavement is not eloquent; and David, when the darling of his soul was dead, did but cry, “O Absalom, my son, my son! would God I had died for thee, my son!” A vastly different expression of a vastly different grief from that which poured itself out in the sad and noble dirge, “The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places:  how are the mighty fallen!”

Saturday, 3d.—­Henry has obtained his commission; one great piece of good fortune amid all the bad, for which God be thanked. [The liberal price given me by Mr. Murray for my play of “Francis I.” enabled me to purchase my brother’s commission, which, however, the money would not have obtained without the extremely kind interest exerted in his favor by Lord Hill, then commander, and Sir John Macdonald, adjutant-general of the forces.]

Sunday, 4th.—­ ...  My father is in deplorable spirits, and seems bowed down with care.  I believe all that befalls us is right.  I know we must bear it; all I pray for is health, strength and courage to bear it well.  In the evening the Harnesses drank tea with us.

Monday, 5th.—­Got ready things for the theater, and went over my part....  In the afternoon, I hoped to hear the result of the meeting that had been held by the creditors of the theater; but my father had been obliged to leave it before anything was settled, and did not know what had been the termination of the consultation.  At the theater the house was not good, neither was my acting.  My father acted admirably, to my amazement:  for he has been in a most wretched state of depression for the last week, and to-day at dinner his face looked drawn and haggard and absolutely lead-colored.

Tuesday, 6th.—­After breakfast went with Henry and my father to Cox and Greenwood’s, the great army agents, to pay for his commission.  Oh, what a good job, to be sure!  Then to the Horse Guards, to thank dear Sir John Macdonald; then to Stable Yard, to call upon Lord Fitzroy Somerset; and then home, much happier than I had been for a long