[Feb., 1881.]

My dear Lady:

I expected to send you a piece of Print as well as a Letter this Full Moon. [205] But the Print is not come from the Printer’s: and perhaps that is as well: for now you can thank me for it beforehand when you reply (as I know you will) to this Letter—and no more needs to be said. For I do [not] need your Advice as to Publication in this case; no such Design is in my head: on the contrary, not even a Friend will know of it except yourself, Mr. Norton, and Aldis Wright: the latter of whom would not be of the party but that he happened to be here when I was too purblind to correct the few Proofs, and very kindly did so for me. As for Mr. Norton (America), he it was for whom it was printed at all—at his wish, he knowing the MS. had been lying by me unfinisht for years. It is a Version of the two Œdipus Plays of Sophocles united as two Parts of one Drama. I should not send it to you but that I feel sure that, if you are in fair health and spirits, you will be considerably interested in it, and probably give me more credit for my share in it than I deserve. As I make sure of this you see there will be no need to say anything more about it. The Chorus part is not mine, as you will see; but probably quite as good. Quite enough on that score.

I really want to know how you like your new Quarters in dear old London: how you are; and whether relieved from Anxiety concerning Mr. Leigh. It was a Gale indeed, such as the oldest hereabout say they do not remember: but it was all from the East: and I do not see why it should have travelled over the Atlantic.

If you are easy on that account, and otherwise pretty well in mind and Body, tell me if you have been to see the Lyceum ‘Cup’ [206a] and what you make of it. Somebody sent me a Macmillan [206b] with an Article about it by Lady Pollock; the extracts she gave seemed to me a somewhat lame imitation of Shakespeare.

I venture to think—and what is more daring—to write, that my Eyes are better, after six weeks’ rest and Blue Glasses. But I say so with due regard to my old Friend Nemesis.

I have heard nothing about my dear Donne since you wrote: and you only said that you had not heard a good account of him. Since then you have, I doubt not, seen as well as heard. But, now that I see better (Absit Invidia!) I will ask Mowbray.

It is well, I think, that Carlyle desired to rest (as I am told he did) where he was born—at Ecclefechan, from which I have, or had, several Letters dated by him. His Niece, who had not replied to my note of Enquiry, of two months ago, wrote to me after his Death.

Now I have written enough for you as well as for myself: and am yours always the same

Littlegrange. *

* ‘What foppery is this, sir?’—Dr. Johnson.