ther miseries which Flesh is heir to: at any rate,
it almost always leaves the Head clear: and that is so much! My Mother,
who suffered a good deal, used often to say how she was kept awake of
nights by the Pain in her feet, or hands, but felt so clear aloft that
she made Night pass even agreeably away with her reflections and
recollections.

And you have your recollections and Reflections which you are gathering
into Shape, you say, in a Memoir of your own Life. And you are good
enough to say that you would read it to me if I--were good enough to
invite you to my House here some Summer Day! I doubt that Donne has
given you too flattering an account of my house, and me: you know he is
pleased with every one and everything: I know it also, and therefore no
longer dissuade him from spending his time and money in a flying Visit
here in the course of his Visits to other East Anglian friends and
Kinsmen. But I feel a little all the while as if I were taking all, and
giving nothing in return: I mean, about Books, People, etc., with which a
dozen years discontinuance of Society, and, latterly, incompetent Eyes,
have left me in the lurch. If you indeed will come and read your Memoir
to me, I shall be entitled to be a Listener only: and you shall have my
Chateau all to yourself for as long as you please: only do not expect me
to be quite what Donne may represent.

It is disgusting to talk so much about oneself: but I really think it is
better to say so much on this occasion. If you consider my
circumstances, you will perhaps see that I am not talking unreasonably: I
am sure, not with sham humility: and that I am yours always and sincerely

E. F.G.

P.S. I should not myself have written so soon again, but to apprise you
of a brace of Pheasants I have sent you. Pray do not write expressly to
acknowledge them:--only tell me if they don't come. I know you thank me.
{9}

IV.

[27 _Feb._, 1872.]

DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

Had I anything pleasant to write to you, or better Eyes to write it with,
you would have heard from me before this. An old Story, by way of
Apology--to one who wants no such Apology, too. Therefore, true though
it be there is enough of it.

I hear from Mowbray Donne that you were at his Father's Lectures, {10a}
and looking yourself. So that is all right. Are your Daughters--or one
of them--still with you? I do not think you have been to see the
Thanksgiving Procession, {10b} for which our