Compliment,
and then passed on. But last night, when Dombey was being read to me we
heard a good splash of rain, and Dombey was shut up that we might hear,
and see, and feel it. {187} I never could make out who wrote two lines
which I never could forget, wherever I found them:--

'Abroad, the rushing Tempest overwhelms
Nature pitch dark, and rides the thundering elms.'

Very like Glorious John Dryden; but many others of his time wrote such
lines, as no one does now--not even Messrs. Swinburne and Browning.

And I am always your old Friend, with the new name of

LITTLEGRANGE.

LXXVII.

WOODBRIDGE: _June_ 23, [1880.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

You smile at my 'Lunacies' as you call my writing periods; I take the
Moon as a signal not to tax you too often for your inevitable answer. I
have now let her pass her Full: and June is drawing short: and you were
to be but for June at Leamington: so--I must have your answer, to tell me
about your own health (which was not so good when last you wrote) and
that of your Family; and when, and where, you go from Leamington. I
shall be sorry if you cannot go to Switzerland.

I have been as far as--Norfolk--on a week's visit (the only visit of the
sort I now make) to George Crabbe, my Poet's Grandson, and his two
Granddaughters. It was a very pleasant visit indeed; the people all so
sensible, and friendly, talking of old days; the Country flat indeed, but
green, well-wooded, and well-cultivated: the weather well enough. {188a}

I carried there two volumes of my Sevigne: and even talked of going over
to Brittany, only to see her Rochers, as once I went to Edinburgh only to
see Abbotsford. But (beside that I probably should not have gone further
than talking in any case) a French Guide Book informed me that the
present Proprietor of the place will not let it be shown to Strangers who
pester him for a view of it, on the strength of those 'paperasses,' as he
calls her Letters. {188b} So this is rather a comfort to me. Had I
gone, I should also have visited my dear old Frederick Tennyson at
Jersey. But now I think we shall never see one another again.

Spedding keeps on writing Shakespeare Notes in answer to sundry Theories
broached by others: he takes off copies of his MS. by some process he has
learned; and, as I always insist on some Copy of all he writes, he has
sent me these, which I read by instalments, as Eyesight permits. I
believe I am not a fair Judg