t. And
there was an old Friend of hers, Mrs. Bristow, who always reminded me of
Miss La Creevy, if you know of such a Person in Nickleby.

At the end of May we went to lodge for a week at Windermere--where
Wordsworth's new volume of Yarrow Revisited reached us. W. was then at
his home: but Tennyson would not go to visit him: and of course I did
not: nor even saw him.

You have, I suppose, the Carlyle Reminiscences: of which I will say
nothing except that, much as we outsiders gain by them, I think that, on
the whole, they had better have been kept unpublished--for some while at
least. As also thinks Carlyle's Niece, who is surprised that Mr. Froude,
whom her Uncle trusted above all men for the gift of Reticence, should
have been in so much hurry to publish what was left to his Judgment to
publish or no. But Carlyle himself, I think, should have stipulated for
Delay, or retrenchment, if publisht at all.

Here is a dull and coldish Day after the fine ones we have had--which
kept me out of doors as long as they lasted. Now one turns to the
Fireside again. To-morrow is Equinox Day; when, if the Wind should
return to North East, North East will it blow till June 21, as we all
believe down here. My Eyes are better, I presume to say: but not what
they were even before Christmas. Pray let me hear how you are, and
believe me ever the same

E. F.G.

Oh! I doubted about sending you what I yet will send, as you already have
what it refers to. It really calls for no comment from any one who does
not know the Greek; those who do would probably repudiate it.

XCI. {216a}

[_April_, 1881.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

Somewhat before my usual time, you see, but Easter {216b} comes, and I
shall be glad to hear if you keep it in London, or elsewhere. Elsewhere
there has been no inducement to go until To-day: when the Wind, though
yet East, has turned to the Southern side of it: one can walk without any
wrapper; and I dare to fancy we have turned the corner of Winter at last.
People talk of changed Seasons: only yesterday I was reading in my dear
old Sevigne, how she was with the Duke and Duchess of Chaulnes at their
Chateau of Chaulnes in Picardy all but two hundred years ago; that is in
1689: and the green has not as yet ventured to show its 'nez' nor a
Nightingale to sing. {217} You see that I have returned to her as for
some Spring Music, at any rate. As for the Birds, I have nothing but a
Robin, who seems ra