I have not seen you for the past week, because I hoped when we next met
to bring "The Lamplighter" in my hand. It would have been finished by
this time, but I found myself compelled to set to work first at the
"Nickleby" on which I am at present engaged, and which I regret to
say--after my close and arduous application last month--I find I cannot
write as quickly as usual. I must finish it, at latest, by the 24th (a
doubtful comfort!), and the instant I have done so I will apply myself
to the farce. I am afraid to name any particular day, but I pledge
myself that you shall have it this month, and you may calculate on that
promise. I send you with this a copy of a farce I wrote for Harley when
he left Drury Lane, and in which he acted for some seventy nights. It is
the best thing he does. It is barely possible you might like to try it.
Any local or temporary allusions could be easily altered.
Believe me that I only feel gratified and flattered by your inquiry
after the farce, and that if I had as much time as I have inclination, I
would write on and on and on, farce after farce and comedy after comedy,
until I wrote you something that would run. You do me justice when you
give me credit for good intentions; but the extent of my good-will and
strong and warm interest in you personally and your great undertaking,
you cannot fathom nor express.
Believe me, my dear Macready,
Ever faithfully yours.
P.S.--For Heaven's sake don't fancy that I hold "The Strange Gentleman"
in any estimation, or have a wish upon the subject.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. C Macready.]