I have, however, found the second volume of
Sophocles; and may perhaps return to look for Ajax and Deianeira.

Adieu: E. F. G.

_To W. F. Pollock_.

MARKET HILL: WOODBRIDGE.
_October_ 28 [1867],

Now, MY DEAR POLLOCK,

I have put on a new Goose-quill Nib, on purpose to write my best MS. to
you. But the new Nib has very little to say for me: the old Story:
dodging about in my Ship for these last five months: indeed during all
that time not having lain, I believe, for three consecutive Nights in
Christian Sheets. But now all that is over: this very day is my little
Ship being dismantled, and to-morrow will she go up to her middle in mud,
and here am I anchored to my old Desk for the Winter; and beginning, as
usual, by writing to my Friends, to tell them what little there is to
tell of myself, and asking them to tell what they can of themselves in
return. I shall even fire a shot at old Spedding; who would not answer
my last Letters at all: innocent as they were, I am sure: and asking
definite Questions, which he once told me he required if I wanted any
Answer. I suppose he is now in Cumberland. What _is_ become of Bacon?
Are you one of the Converted, who go the whole Hog?

Thompson--no, I mean the Master of Trinity--has replied to my half-yearly
Enquiries in a very kind Letter. He tells me that my friend Edward
Cowell has pleased all the Audience he had with an inaugural Lecture
about Sanskrit. {97a} Also, that there is such an Article in the
Quarterly about the Talmud {97b} as has not been seen (so fine an
Article, I mean) for years. I have had Don Quixote, Boccaccio, and my
dear Sophocles (once more) for company on board: the first of these so
delightful, that I got to love the very Dictionary in which I had to look
out the words: yes, and often the same words over and over again. The
Book really seemed to me the most delightful of all Books: Boccaccio,
delightful too, but millions of miles behind; in fact, a whole Planet
away.

_To W. A. Wright_.

MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE.
_Dec._ 11 [1867].

DEAR SIR,

When Robert Groome was with me a month ago, I was speaking to him of
having found some Bacon in Montaigne: and R. G. told me that you had
observed the same, and were indeed collecting some instances; I think,
quotations from Seneca, so employed as to prove that Bacon had them from
the Frenchman. It has been the fashion of late to scoff at Seneca; whom
such men as Bacon and Montaigne quoted: perhap