Woodbridge: Oct. 17, [1882.]

My dear Mrs. Kemble,

I suppose that you are returned from the Loire by this time; but as I am not sure that you have returned to the ‘Hotel des Deux Mondes,’ whence you dated your last, I make bold once more to trouble Coutts with adding your Address to my Letter. I think I shall have it from yourself not long after. I shall like to hear a word about my old France, dear to me from childish associations; and in particular of the Loire endeared to me by SÉvignÉ—for I never saw the glimmer of its Waters myself. If you were in England I should send you an account of a tour there, written by a Lady in 1833—written in the good old way of Ladies’ writing, without any of the smartness, and not too much of the ‘graphic’ of later times. Did you look at Les Rochers, which, I have read, is not to be looked into by the present owner? [250a]

Now for my ‘Story, God bless you,’ etc., you may guess where none is to be told. Only, my old Housekeeper here has been bedded for this last month, an illness which has caused her great pain, and at one time seemed about to make an End of her. So it may do still: but for the last few days she has suffered less pain, and so we—hope. This has caused much trouble in my little household, as you may imagine—as well on our own account, as on hers.

Mowbray Donne wrote me that his Edith had been seriously—I know not if dangerously—ill; and he himself much out of sorts, having never yet (he says, and I believe) recovered from his Father’s death. Blanche, for the present, is quartered at Friends’ and Kinsfolk’s houses.

Aldis Wright has sent me a Photograph, copied from Mrs. Cameron’s original, of James Spedding—so fine that I know not whether I feel more pleasure or pain in looking at it. When you return to England, you shall see it somehow.

I have had a letter or two from Annie Ritchie, who is busy writing various Articles for Magazines. One concerning Miss Edgeworth in the Cornhill is pleasant reading. [250b] She tells me that Tennyson is at Aldworth (his Hampshire house, you know), and a notice in AthenÆum or Academy tells that he is about to produce ‘a Pastoral Drama’ at one of the smaller Theatres! [251a]

You may have seen—but more probably have not seen—how Mr. Irving and Co. have brought out ‘Much Ado’ with all Éclat.

It seems to me (but I believe it seems so every year) that our trees keep their leaves very long; I suppose because of no severe frosts or winds up to this time. And my garden still shows some Geranium, Salvia, Nasturtium, Great Convolvulus, and that grand African Marigold whose Colour is so comfortable to us Spanish-like Paddies. [251b] I have also a dear Oleander which even now has a score of blossoms on it, and touches the top of my little Greenhouse—having been sent me when ‘haut comme Ça,’ as Marquis Somebody used to say in the days of Louis XIV. Don’t you love the Oleander? So clean in its leaves and stem, as so beautiful in its flower; loving to stand in water, which it drinks up so fast. I rather worship mine.

Here is pretty matter to get Coutts to further on to Paris—to Mrs. Kemble in Paris. And I have written it all in my best MS. with a pen that has been held with its nib in water for more than a fortnight—Charles Keene’s recipe for keeping Pens in condition—Oleander-like.

Please to make my Compliments to Mrs. Wister—my good wishes to the young Musician; [252a] and pray do you believe me your sincere as ever—in spite of his new name—

Littlegrange.