I am really more obliged to you for your kindness about "The Eagle" (as
I always call your house) than I can say. But when I come to town
to-morrow week, for the Liverpool and Manchester plays, I shall have
Kate and Georgy with me. Moreover I shall be continually going out and
coming in at unholy hours. Item, the timid will come at impossible
seasons to "go over" their parts with the manager. Item, two Jews with
musty sacks of dresses will be constantly coming backwards and forwards.
Item, sounds as of "groans" will be heard while the inimitable Boz is
"getting" his words--which happens all day. Item, Forster will
incessantly deliver an address by Bulwer. Item, one hundred letters per
diem will arrive from Manchester and Liverpool; and five actresses, in
very limp bonnets, with extraordinary veils attached to them, will be
always calling, protected by five mothers.
No, no, my actuary. Some congenial tavern is the fitting scene for these
things, if I don't get into Devonshire Terrace, whereof I have some
spark of hope. Eagles couldn't look the sun in the face and have such
enormities going on in their nests.
I am, for the time, that obscene thing, in short, now chronicled in the
Marylebone Register of Births--
A PLAYER,
Though still yours.
[Sidenote: Miss Power.]