[Feb. 1882.]

My dear Lady:—

The same Post which brought me your very kind Letter, brought me also the enclosed.

The writer of it—Mr. SchÜtz Wilson—a LittÉrateur gÉnÉral—I believe—wrote up Omar KhayyÂm some years ago, and, I dare say, somewhat hastened another (and so far as I am concerned) final Edition. Of his Mr. Terriss I did not know even by name, till Mr. Wilson told me. So now you can judge and act as you see fit in the matter.

If Terriss and SchÜtz W. fail in knowing your London ‘habitat,’ you see that the former makes amends in proposing to go so far as Cheltenham to ask advice of you. Our poor dear Donne would have been so glad, and so busy, in telling what he could in the matter—if only in hope of keeping up your Father’s Tradition.

I am ashamed to advert to my own little ailments, while you, I doubt not, are enduring worse. I should have gone to London last week had I believed that a week earlier or later mattered; as things are, I will not reckon on going before next week. I want to be well enough to ‘cut about’ and see the three friends whom I want to see—yourself among the number.

Blakesley (Lincoln’s Dean) goes to stay in London next week, and hopes to play Whist in Weymouth Street.

Kegan Paul, etc., publish dear Spedding’s ‘Evenings,’ [233] etc., and never was Book more worth reading—and buying. I think I understand your weariness in bringing out your Book: but many will be the Gainers:—among them yours always

LittleG.