them to a belief in a future state. Everybody everywhere is turning
tables. The young Russells, who are surcharged with electricity, set
them spinning in ten minutes. In general, you know, it is usual to
take off all articles of metal. They, the other night, took a fancy
to remove their rings and bracelets, and, having done so, the table,
which had paused for a moment, began whirling again as fast as ever
the contrary way. This is a fact, and a curious one.

I have lent three volumes of your "De Quincey" to my young friend,
James Payn, a poet of very high promise, who has verified the Green
story, and taken the books with him to the Lakes. God grant, my dear
friend, that you may not lose by "Our Village"; that is what I care
for.

Ever faithfully yours, M.R.M.

Swallowfield, June 23, 1853.

Ah, my very dear friend, we shall not see you this summer, I am
sure. For the first time I clearly perceive the obstacle, and I feel
that unless some chance should detain Mr. Ticknor, we must give up
the great happiness of seeing you till next year. I wonder whether
your poor old friend will be alive to greet you then! Well, that is
as God pleases; in the mean time be assured that you have been one
of the chief comforts and blessings of these latter years of my
life, not only in your own friendship and your thousand kindnesses,
but in the kindness and friendship of dear Mr. Bennoch, which, in
the first instance, I mainly owe to you. I am in somewhat better
trim, although the getting out of doors and into the pony-carriage,
from which Mr. May hoped such great things, has hardly answered his
expectations. I am not stronger, and I am so nervous that I can only
bear to be driven, or more ignominiously still to be led, at a
foot's pace through the lanes. I am still unable to stand or walk,
unless supported by Sam's strong hands lifting me up on each side,
still obliged to be lifted into bed, and unable to turn or move when
there, the worst grievance of all. However, I am in as good spirits
as ever, and just at this moment most comfortably seated under the
acacia-tree at the corner of my house,--the beautiful acacia
literally loaded with its snowy chains (the flowering trees this
summer, lilacs, laburnums, rhododendrons, azalias, have been one
mass of blossoms, and none are so graceful as this