lerk, if he can find no more
amusing place to go to for his short Holyday; probably Aldis Wright, who
always comes into these parts at these Seasons--his 'Nazione' being
Beccles. Perhaps also a learned Nephew of mine--John De Soyres--now
Professor of some History at Queen's College, London, may look in.

Did my Patron, Mr. Schutz Wilson, ever call on you, up to this time? I
dare say, not; for he may suppose you still out of London. And, though I
have had a little correspondence with him since, I have not said a word
about your return--nor about yourself. I saw in my Athenaeum or Academy
that Mercutio did as usual. Have you seen the Play?

I conclude (from not hearing otherwise from Mowbray) that his Father is
much as when I saw him. I do not know if the Papers have reported
anything more of Lord Houghton, and I have not heard of him from my few
correspondents.

But pray do you tell me a word about Mrs. Kemble; and beg her to believe
me ever the same

E. F.G.

CIII.

[_Spring_, 1882.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

I scarce think, judging by my old Recorder the Moon, that it is a month
since I last wrote to you. But not far off, neither. Be that as it may,
just now I feel inclined to tell you that I lately heard from Hallam
Tennyson by way of acknowledgment of the Programme of a Recital of his
Father's verse at Ipswich, by a quondam Tailor there. This, as you may
imagine, I did for fun, such as it was. But Hallam replies, without much
reference to the Reading: but to tell me how his Father had a fit of Gout
in his hand while he was in London: and therefore it was that he had not
called on you as he had intended. Think of my dear old Fellow with the
Gout! In consequence of which he was forbidden his daily allowance of
Port (if I read Hallam's scrawl aright), which, therefore, the Old Boy
had stuck to like a fine Fellow with a constancy which few modern Britons
can boast of. This reminded me that when I was on my last visit to him,
Isle of Wight, 1854, he stuck to his Port (I do not mean too much) and
asked me, who might be drinking Sherry, if I did not see that his was
'the best Beast of the two.' So he has remained true to his old Will
Waterproof Colours--and so he was prevented from calling on you--his
hand, Hallam says, swelled up like 'a great Sponge.' Ah, if he did not
live on a somewhat large scale, with perpetual Visitors, I might go once
more to see him.

Now, you will, I know, answer me