Part 20 (1/2)

WOODBRIDGE: _May_ 25/80.

MY DEAR LADY,

Another full Moon reminds [me] of my monthly call upon you by Letter--a call to be regularly returned, I know, according to your Etiquette. As so it must be, I shall be very glad to hear that you are better than when you last wrote, and that some, if not all, of the 'trouble' you spoke of has pa.s.sed away. I have not heard of Donne since that last letter of yours: but a Post Card from Mowbray, who was out holyday-making in Norfolk, tells me that he will write as soon as he has returned to London, which, I think, must be about this very time.

I shall be sorry if you do not get your annual dose of Mountain Air; why can you not? postponing your visit to Hamps.h.i.+re till Autumn--a season when I think those who want company and comfort are most glad of it. But you are determined, I think, to do as you are asked: yes, even the more so if you do not wish it. And, moreover, you know much more of what is fittest to do than I.

A list of Trench's works in the Academy made me think of sending him my Crabbe; which I did: and had a very kind answer from him, together with a Copy of a second Edition of his Calderon Essay and Translation. He had not read any Crabbe since he was a Lad: what he may think of him now I know not: for I bid him simply acknowledge the receipt of my Volume, as I did of his. I think much the best way, unless advice is wanted on either side before publication.

If you write--which you will, unless--nay, whether troubled or not, I think--I should like to hear if you have heard anything of Mr. Lowell in London. I do not write to him for fear of bothering him: but I wish to know that his Wife is recovered. I have been thinking for some days of writing a Note to Carlyle's Niece, enclosing her a Post Card to be returned to me with just a word about him and herself. A Card only: for I do not know how occupied she may be with her own family cares by this time.

I have re-read your Records, in which I do not know that I find any too much, as I had thought there was of some early Letters. Which I believe I told you while the Book was in progress. {186} It is, I sincerely say, a capital Book, and, as I have now read it twice over with pleasure, and I will say, with Admiration--if but for its Sincerity (I think you will not mind my saying that much)--I shall probably read it over again, if I live two years more. I am now embarked on my blessed Sevigne, who, with Crabbe, and John Wesley, seem to be my great hobbies; or such as I do not tire of riding, though my friends may weary of hearing me talk about them.

By the by, to-morrow is, I think, Derby Day; which I remember chiefly for its marking the time when Hampton Court Chestnuts were usually in full flower. You may guess that we in the Country here have been gaping for rain to bring on our Crops, and Flowers; very tantalising have been many promising Clouds, which just dropped a few drops by way of Compliment, and then pa.s.sed on. But last night, when Dombey was being read to me we heard a good splash of rain, and Dombey was shut up that we might hear, and see, and feel it. {187} I never could make out who wrote two lines which I never could forget, wherever I found them:--

'Abroad, the rus.h.i.+ng Tempest overwhelms Nature pitch dark, and rides the thundering elms.'

Very like Glorious John Dryden; but many others of his time wrote such lines, as no one does now--not even Messrs. Swinburne and Browning.

And I am always your old Friend, with the new name of

LITTLEGRANGE.

LXXVII.

WOODBRIDGE: _June_ 23, [1880.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

You smile at my 'Lunacies' as you call my writing periods; I take the Moon as a signal not to tax you too often for your inevitable answer. I have now let her pa.s.s her Full: and June is drawing short: and you were to be but for June at Leamington: so--I must have your answer, to tell me about your own health (which was not so good when last you wrote) and that of your Family; and when, and where, you go from Leamington. I shall be sorry if you cannot go to Switzerland.

I have been as far as--Norfolk--on a week's visit (the only visit of the sort I now make) to George Crabbe, my Poet's Grandson, and his two Granddaughters. It was a very pleasant visit indeed; the people all so sensible, and friendly, talking of old days; the Country flat indeed, but green, well-wooded, and well-cultivated: the weather well enough. {188a}

I carried there two volumes of my Sevigne: and even talked of going over to Brittany, only to see her Rochers, as once I went to Edinburgh only to see Abbotsford. But (beside that I probably should not have gone further than talking in any case) a French Guide Book informed me that the present Proprietor of the place will not let it be shown to Strangers who pester him for a view of it, on the strength of those 'papera.s.ses,' as he calls her Letters. {188b} So this is rather a comfort to me. Had I gone, I should also have visited my dear old Frederick Tennyson at Jersey. But now I think we shall never see one another again.

Spedding keeps on writing Shakespeare Notes in answer to sundry Theories broached by others: he takes off copies of his MS. by some process he has learned; and, as I always insist on some Copy of all he writes, he has sent me these, which I read by instalments, as Eyesight permits. I believe I am not a fair Judge between him and his adversaries; first, because I have but little, if any, faculty of critical a.n.a.lysis; and secondly, because I am prejudiced with the notion that old Jem is Shakespeare's Prophet, and must be right. But, whether right or wrong, the way in which he conducts, and pleads, his Case is always Music to me.

So it was even with Bacon, with whom I could not be reconciled: I could not like Dr. Fell: much more so with 'the Divine Williams,' who is a Doctor that I do like.

It has turned so dark here in the last two days that I scarce see to write at my desk by a window which has a hood over it, meant to exclude--the Sun! I have increased my Family by two broods of Ducks, who compete for the possession of a Pond about four feet in diameter: and but an hour ago I saw my old Seneschal escorting home a stray lot of Chickens. My two elder Nieces are with me at present, but I do not think will be long here, if a Sister comes to them from Italy.

Pray let me hear how you are. I am pretty well myself:--though not quite up to the mark of my dear Sevigne, who writes from her Rochers when close on sixty--'Pour moi, je suis d'une si parfaite sante, que je ne comprends point ce que Dieu veut faire de moi.' {190}

But yours always and a Day, LITTLEGRANGE.