believe in as Hamlet, after seeing part of his famous
Performance of a Melodrama called 'The Bells' three or four years ago.
But the Pollocks, and a large World beside, think him a Prodigy--whom
Spedding thinks--a Monster! To this Complexion is the English Drama
come.

I wonder if your American Winter has transformed itself to such a sudden
Summer as here in Old England. I returned to my Woodbridge three weeks
ago: not a leaf on the Trees: in ten days they were all green, and
people--perspiring, I suppose one must say. Now again, while the Sun is
quite as Hot, the Wind has swerved round to the East--so as one broils on
one side and freezes on t'other--and I--the Great Twalmley {75b}--am
keeping indoors from an Intimation of Bronchitis. I think it is time for
one to leave the Stage oneself.

I heard from Mowbray Donne some little while ago; as he said nothing (I
think) of his Father, I conclude that there is nothing worse of him to be
said. He (the Father) has a Review of Macready--laudatory, I suppose--in
the Edinburgh, and _Mr._ Helen Faucit (Martin) as injurious a one in the
Quarterly: the reason of the latter being (it is supposed) because _Mrs._
H. F. is not noticed except just by name. To this Complexion also!

Ever yours,
E. F.G.

Since writing as above, your Letter comes; as you do not speak of moving,
I shall send Spedding and Carlyle by Post to you, in spite of the Loss of
Income you tell me of which would (I doubt) close up _my_ thoughts some
while from such speculations. I do not think _you_ will take trouble so
to heart. Keep Spedding for me: Carlyle I don't want again. Tired as
you--and I--are of Shakespeare Commentaries, you will like this.

XXX.

LOWESTOFT: _July_ 22/75.

DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

I have abstained from writing since you wrote me how busily your Pen was
employed for the Press: I wished more than ever to spare you the trouble
of answering me--which I knew you would not forgo. And now you will feel
called upon, I suppose, though I would fain spare you.

Though I date from this place still, I have been away from it at my own
Woodbridge house for two months and more; only returning here indeed to
help make a better Holiday for a poor Lad who is shut up in a London
Office while his Heart is all for Out-of-Door, Country, Sea, etc. We
have been having wretched Holyday weather, to be sure: rain, mist, and
wind; St. Swithin at his worst: but all better than the hateful London