Part 24 (1/2)

MY DEAR LADY:

This present Letter calls for no answer--except just that which perhaps you cannot make it. If you have that copy of Plays revised by John the Great which I sent, or brought, you, I wish you would cause your Maid to pack it in brown Paper, and send it by Rail duly directed to me. I have a wish to show it to Aldis Wright, who takes an Interest in your Family, as in your Prophet. If you have already dismissed the Book elsewhere--not much liking, I think, the stuff which J. K. spent so much trouble on, I shall not be surprised, nor at all aggrieved: and there is not much for A. W. to profit by unless in seeing what pains your n.o.ble Uncle took with his Calling.

It has been what we call down here 'smurring' rather than raining, all day long: and I think that Flower and Herb already show their grat.i.tude.

My Blackbird (I think it is the same I have tried to keep alive during the Winter) seems also to have 'wetted his Whistle,' and what they call the 'Cuckoo's mate,' with a rather harsh scissor note, announces that his Partner may be on the wing to these Lat.i.tudes. You will hear of him at Mr. W. Shakespeare's, it may be. There must be Violets, white and blue, somewhere about where he lies, I think. They are generally found in a Churchyard, where also (the Hunters used to say) a Hare: for the same reason of comparative security, I suppose.

I am very glad you agree with me about Mrs. Oliphant. That one paper of hers makes me wish to read her Books.

You must somehow, or somewhile, let me know your Address in Leamington, unless a Letter addressed to Cavendish Square will find you there. Always and truly yours

LITTLE G.

XCIII. {221}

_May_ 8, [1881.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE:

You will not break your Law, though you have done so once--to tell me of Spedding--But now you will not--nor let me know your Address--so I must direct to you at a venture: to Marshall Thompson's, whither I suppose you will return awhile, even if you be not already there. I think, however, that you are not there yet. If still at Leamington, you look upon a sight which I used to like well; that is, the blue Avon (as in this weather it will be) running through b.u.t.tercup meadows all the way to Warwick--unless those Meadows are all built over since I was there some forty years ago.

Aldis Wright stayed with me a whole week at Easter: and we did very well.

Much Shakespeare--especially concerning that curious Question about the Quarto and Folio Hamlets which people are now trying to solve by Action as well as by Discussion. Then we had The Two n.o.ble Kinsmen--which Tennyson and other Judges were a.s.sured has much of W. S. in it. Which parts I forget, or never heard: but it seemed to me that a great deal of the Play might be his, though not of his best: but Wright could find him nowhere.

Miss Crabbe sent me a Letter from Carlyle's Niece, cut out from some Newspaper, about her Uncle's MS. Memoir, and his written words concerning it. Even if Froude's explanation of the matter be correct, he ought to have still taken any hesitation on Carlyle's part as sufficient proof that the MS. were best left unpublisht: or, at any rate, great part of it. If you be in London, you will be wearied enough with hearing about this.

I am got back to my--Sevigne!--who somehow returns to me in Spring: fresh as the Flowers. These latter have done but badly this Spring, cut off or withered by the Cold: and now parched up by this blazing Sun and dry Wind. If you get my letter, pray answer it and tell me how you are: and ever believe me yours

LITTLEGRANGE.

XCIV.

_May_, [1881.]

MY DEAR LADY,

If I did not write (as doubtless I ought) to acknowledge the Playbook, I really believe that I thought you would have felt bound to answer my acknowledgment! It came all right, thank you: and A. Wright looked it over: and it has been lying ready to be returned to you whenever you should be returned to London. I a.s.sure you that I wish you to keep it, unless it be rather unacceptable than otherwise; I never thought you would endure the Plays themselves; only that you might be interested in your brave Uncle's patient and, I think, just, revision of them. This was all I cared for: and wished to show to A. W. as being interested in all that concerns so n.o.ble an Interpreter of his Shakespeare as your Uncle was. If you do not care--or wish--to have the Book again, tell me of some one you would wish to have it: had I wished, I should have told you so at once: but I now give away even what I might have wished for to those who are in any way more likely to be more interested in them than myself, or are likely to have a few more years of life to make what they may of them. I do not think that A. W. is one of such: he thought (as you may do) of so much pains wasted on such sorry stuff.

So far from disagreeing with you about Shakespeare emendations, etc., I have always been of the same mind: quite content with what pleased myself, and, as to the elder Dramatists, always thinking they would be better all annihilated after some Selections made from them, as C. Lamb did.

Mowbray Donne wrote to me a fortnight or so since that his Father was 'pretty well,' but weak in the knees. Three days ago came in Archdeacon Groome, who told me that a Friend of Mowbray's had just heard from him that his Father had symptoms of dropsy about the Feet and Ankles. I have not, however, written to ask; and, not having done so, perhaps ought not to sadden you with what may be an inaccurate report. But one knows that, sooner or later, some such end must come; and that, in the meanwhile, Donne's Life is but little preferable to that which promises the speedier end to it.