ll 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 'succes 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.

XL.

WOODBRIDGE, _July_ 4, [1876.]

DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

Here I am back into the Country, as I may call my suburb here as compared
to Lowestoft; all my house, except the one room--which 'serves me for
Parlour and Bedroom and all' {108a}--occupied by Nieces. Our weather is
temperate, our Trees green, Roses about to bloom, Birds about to leave
off singing--all sufficiently pleasant. I must not forget a Box from
Mudie with some Memoirs in it--of Godwin