[Lowestoft, April, 1876.]

My dear Mrs. Kemble,

From Lowestoft still I date: as just ten years ago when I was about building a Lugger, and reading Montaigne. The latter holds his own with me after three hundred years: and the Lugger does not seem much the worse for her ten years’ wear, so well did she come bouncing between the Piers here yesterday, under a strong Sou’-Wester. My Great Captain has her no more; he has what they call a ‘Scotch Keel’ which is come into fashion: her too I see: and him too steering her, broader and taller than all the rest: fit to be a Leader of Men, Body and Soul; looking now Ulysses-like. Two or three years ago he had a run of constant bad luck; and, being always of a grand convivial turn, treating Everybody, he got deep in Drink, against all his Promises to me, and altogether so lawless, that I brought things to a pass between us. ‘He should go on with me if he would take the Tee-total Pledge for one year’—‘No—he had broken his word,’ he said, ‘and he would not pledge it again,’ much as he wished to go on with me. That, you see, was very fine in him; he is altogether fine—A Great Man, I maintain it: like one of Carlyle’s old Norway Kings, with a wider morality than we use; which is very good and fine (as this Captain said to me) ‘for you who are born with a silver spoon in your mouths.’ I did not forget what Carlyle too says about Great Faults in Great Men: even in David, the Lord’s Anointed. But I thought best to share the Property with him and let him go his way. He had always resented being under any Control, and was very glad to be his own sole Master again: and yet clung to me in a wild and pathetic way. He has not been doing better since: and I fear is sinking into disorder.

This is a long story about one you know nothing about except what little I have told you. But the Man is a very remarkable Man indeed, and you may be interested—you must be—in him.

‘Ho! parlons d’autres choses, ma Fille,’ as my dear SÉvignÉ says. She now occupies Montaigne’s place in my room: well—worthily: she herself a Lover of Montaigne, and with a spice of his free thought and speech in her. I am sometimes vext I never made her acquaintance till last year: but perhaps it was as well to have such an acquaintance reserved for one’s latter years. The fine Creature! much more alive to me than most Friends—I should like to see her ‘Rochers’ in Brittany. [105]

‘Parlons d’autres choses’—your Mother’s Miniature. You seemed at first to think it was taken from the Engraving: but the reverse was always clear to me. The whole figure, down to the Feet, is wanted to account for the position of the Legs; and the superior delicacy of Feature would not be gained from the Engraving, but the contrary. The Stars were stuck in to make an ‘Urania’ of it perhaps. I do not assert that your Miniature is the original: but that such a Miniature is. I did not expect that Black next the Picture would do: had you ‘tried on the Bonnet’ first, as I advised? I now wish I had sent the Picture over in its original Frame, which I had doctored quite well with a strip of Black Paper pasted over the Gold. It might really have gone through Quaritch’s Agency: but I got into my head that the Post was safer. (How badly I am writing!) I had a little common Engraving of the Cottage bonnet Portrait: so like Henry. If I did not send it to you, I know not what is become of it.

Along with your Letter came one from Donne telling me of your Niece’s Death. [106] He said he had written to tell you. In reply, I gave him your message; that he must ‘hold on’ till next year when peradventure you may see England again, and hope to see him too.

Sooner or later you will see an Account of ‘Mary Tudor’ at the Lyceum. [107] It is just what I expected: a ‘succÈs d’estime,’ and not a very enthusiastic one. Surely, no one could have expected more. And now comes out a new Italian Hamlet—Rossi—whose first appearance is recorded in the enclosed scrap of Standard. And (to finish Theatrical or Dramatic Business) Quaritch has begun to print Agamemnon—so leisurely that I fancy he wishes to wait till the old Persian is exhausted, and so join the two. I certainly am in no hurry; for I fully believe we shall only get abused for the Greek in proportion as we were praised for the Persian—in England. I mean: for you have made America more favourable.

‘Parlons d’autres choses.’ ‘Eh? mais de quoi parler,’ etc. Well: a Blackbird is singing in the little Garden outside my Lodging Window, which is frankly opened to what Sun there is. It has been a singular half year; only yesterday Thunder in rather cold weather; and last week the Road and Rail in Cambridge and Huntingdon was blocked up with Snow; and Thunder then also. I suppose I shall get home in ten days: before this Letter will reach you, I suppose: so your next may be addressed to Woodbridge. I really don’t know if these long Letters are more of Trouble or Pleasure to you: however, there is an end to all: and that End is that I am yours as truly as ever I was

E. F.G.