her often--Oh, but
your Mother was not there, only you--at School. We were there in 1817-
18--signalised by The Great Murder--that of Fualdes--one of the most
interesting events in all History to me, I am sorry to say. For in that
point I do not say I am right. But that Rue d'Angouleme--do you not
remember the house cornering on the Champs Elysees with some ornaments in
stone of Flowers and Garlands--belonging to a Lord Courtenay, I believe?
And do you remember a Pepiniere over the way; and, over that, seeing that
Temple in the Beaujon Gardens with the Parisians descending and ascending
in Cars? And (I think) at the end of the street, the Church of St.
Philippe du Roule? Perhaps I shall see in your next Number that you do
remember all these things.

Well: I was pleased with some other Papers in your Magazine: as those on
V. Hugo, {85a} and Tennyson's Queen Mary: {85b} I doubt not that
Criticism on English Writers is likely to be more impartial over the
Atlantic, and not biassed by Clubs, Coteries, etc. I always say that we
in the Country are safer Judges than those of even better Wits in London:
not being prejudiced so much, whether by personal acquaintance, or party,
or Fashion. I see that Professor Wilson said much the same thing to
Willis forty years ago.

I have written to Donne to tell him of your Papers, and that I will send
him my Copies if he cannot get them. Mowbray wrote me word that his
Father, who has bought the house in Weymouth Street, was now about
returning to it, after some Alterations made. Mowbray talks of paying me
a little Visit here--he and his Wife--at the End of this month:--when
what Good Looks we have will all be gone.

Farewell for the present; I count on your Gossip: and believe me (what it
serves to make me feel more vividly)

Your sincere old Friend
E. F.G.

XXXIV.

[Nov. 1875.]

DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

The Mowbray Donnes have been staying some days {86} with me--very
pleasantly. Of course I got them to tell me of the fine things in
London: among the rest, the Artists whose Photos they sent me, and I here
enclose. The Lady, they tell me--(Spedding's present Idol)--is better
than her Portrait--which would not have so enamoured Bassanio. Irving's,
they say, is flattered. But 'tis a handsome face, surely; and one that
should do for Hamlet--if it were not for that large Ear--do you notice? I
was tempted to send it to you, because it reminds me of some of your
Family