Read it through once

Her Tragedy of _Charles I_ was constantly being worked upon, for she was hoping that Kemble would be able to produce it at Covent Garden early in the next year, but in this, as in all other literary work—it was the penalty exacted by popularity—she was much hindered by callers—“deuce take ’em,” she wrote, “for I am fairly worn off my feet and off my tongue.” Furthermore she could never resist the fascination of letter-writing and, as she could never bring herself to the inditing of a short note—the heavy postal-charges of those days would have made such a thing appear as the height of extravagance—her epistles were generally very lengthy and must have taken up much valuable time. One of her letters to Haydon, during this year, contains a most amusing defence of her own spinster condition. “I have a theory, very proper and convenient for an old maid, that the world is over-peopled, and always hear with some regret of every fresh birth. I hold old maids and bachelors—especially old maids, for an obvious reason—to be the most meritorious and patriotic class of his Majesty’s subjects; and I think the opinion seems gaining ground. Three persons in this neighbourhood especially, all friends of mine, are staunch in the creed; only, unluckily, their practice does not quite accord with their principles. The first, an old maid herself, I caught last week in the act of presiding over a dozen of country-town ladies, cutting out baby-linen for a charity—‘The Maternal Society,’ save the mark! Bounties upon babies! The second, an admiral of the last edition, called on me on Saturday with a very rueful face to announce the birth of a daughter (he has a pretty young wife and six children under eight years old).—‘Well,’ said I, ‘it must be endured.’ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘but who would have thought of its being a girl!’ The third, a young married woman, was brought to bed this very morning of twins—a catastrophe which I have been predicting to her this month past.”