: your Father, most of all, as Harlowe has painted him in that
famous Picture of the Trial Scene. {87a} It is odd to me that the fine
Engraving from that Picture--once so frequent--is scarce seen now: it has
seemed strange to me to meet People who never even heard of it.

I don't know why you have a little Grudge against Mrs. Siddons--perhaps
you will say you have not--all my fancy. I think it was noticed at
Cambridge that your Brother John scarce went to visit her when she was
staying with that Mrs. Frere, whom you don't remember with pleasure. She
did talk much and loud: but she had a fine Woman's heart underneath, and
she could sing a classical Song: as also some of Handel, whom she had
studied with Bartleman. But she never could have sung the Ballad with
the fulness which you describe in Mrs. Arkwright. {87b}

Which, together with your mention of your American isolation, reminds me
of some Verses of Hood, with which I will break your Heart a little. They
are not so very good, neither: but I, in England as I am, and like to be,
cannot forget them.

'The Swallow with Summer
Shall wing o'er the Seas;
The Wind that I sigh to
Shall sing in your Trees;

The Ship that it hastens
Your Ports will contain--
But for me--I shall never
See England again.' {88a}

It always runs in my head to a little German Air, common enough in our
younger days--which I will make a note of, and you will, I dare say,
remember at once.

I doubt that what I have written is almost as illegible as that famous
one of yours: in which however only [paper] was in fault: {88b} and now I
shall scarce mend the matter by taking a steel pen instead of that old
quill, which certainly did fight upon its Stumps.

Well now--Professor Masson of Edinburgh has asked me to join him and
seventy-nine others in celebrating Carlyle's eightieth Birthday on
December 4--with the Presentation of a Gold Medal with Carlyle's own
Effigy upon it, and a congratulatory Address. I should have thought such
a Measure would be ridiculous to Carlyle; but I suppose Masson must have
ascertained his Pleasure from some intimate Friend of C.'s: otherwise he
would not have known of my Existence for one. However Spedding and
Pollock tell me that, after some hesitation like my own, they judged best
to consent. Our Names are even to be attached somehow to a--White Silk,
or Satin, Scroll! Surely Carlyle cannot be aware of that? I hope
devo