etty, his writing to his
Brother, who is dwelling (1870-1) in some fortified Town, on whose
ramparts, now mounted with cannon, 'I used to gather Violets.' And I
cannot forget what he says to a Friend at that crisis, 'Engage in some
long course of Study to drown Trouble in:' and he quotes Ste. Beuve
saying, one long Summer Day in the Country, 'Lisons tout Madame de
Sevigne.' You may have to advise me to some such course before long. I
will avoid speaking, or, so far as I can, thinking, of what I cannot
prevent, or alter. You say you like my Letters: which I say is liking
what comes from this old Country, more yours than mine. I have heard
that some of your People would even secure a Brick, or Stone, from some
old Church here to imbed in some new Church a-building over the Atlantic.
Plenty of such materials might be had, for this foolish People are
restoring, and rebuilding, old Village Churches that have grown together
in their Fields for Centuries. Only yesterday I wrote to decline helping
such a work on a poor little Church I remember these sixty years. Well,
you like my Letters; I think there is too much of this one; but I will
end, as I believe I began, in praying you not to be at any trouble in
answering it, or any other, from

Yours sincerely,
E. F. G.

Pray read the Scene at Mrs. MacCandlish's Inn when Colonel Mannering
returns from India to Ellangowan. It is Shakespeare.

WOODBRIDGE. _April_ 16/1878.

Only a word; to say that yesterday came Squire-Carlyle from you: and a
kind long letter from Mr. Lowell: and--and the first Nightingale, who
sang in my Garden the same song as in Shakespeare's days: and, before the
Day had closed, Dandie Dinmont came into my room on his visit to young
Bertram in Portanferry Gaol-house.

_To J. R. Lowell_.

WOODBRIDGE. _April_ 17/78.

MY DEAR (SIR ---)--(LOWELL)?

Your letter reached me just after hearing this year's first Nightingale
in my Garden: both very welcome. I am very glad you did not feel bound
to answer me before; I should not write otherwise to you or to some very
old Friends who, like most sensible men as they grow older, dislike all
unnecessary writing more and more. So that I scarce remind them of
myself more than once a year now. I shall feel sure of your good Will
toward me whether you write or not; as I do of theirs.

Mr. Norton thinks, as a Gentleman should, that Keats' Letters should not
have been published. I hope I should not have bough