nd
old Mitford had them buried with an inscribed Stone in the old
Churchyard, peopled with dead 'Mariners'; and Inscription and Stone are
now gone. Yesterday I got out in a Boat, drizzly as it was: but to-day
there is too much Sea to put off. I am to be home by the week's end, if
not before. The melancholy of Slaughden last night, with the same Sloops
sticking sidelong in the mud as sixty years ago! And I the venerable
Remembrancer.

MY DEAR KEENE,

I ought to have acknowledged the receipt of your Paris map, which is
excellent; so that, eyes permitting, I can follow my Sevigne about from
her Rue St. Catherine over the Seine to the Faubourg St. Germain quite
distinctly. These cold East winds, however, coming so suddenly after the
heat, put those Eyes of mine in a pickle, so as I am obliged to let them
lie fallow, looking only at the blessed Green of the Trees before my
Window, or on my Quarterdeck. {293} My two Nieces are with me, so that I
leave all the house to them, except my one Room downstairs, which serves
for Parlour, Bedroom and all. And it does very well for me; reminding me
of my former Cabin life in my little Ship 'd'autrefois.' . . .

Do not you forget (as you will) to tell Mr. Millais one day of the pretty
Subject I told you; little Keats standing sentry before his sick Mother's
Door with a drawn sword; in his Shirt it might be, with some Rembrandtish
Light and Shade. The Story is to be found at the beginning of Lord
Houghton's Life.

Also, for any Painter you know of what they call the 'Genre' School:

Sevigne and the 'de Villars' looking through the keyhole at Mignard
painting Madame de Fontevrauld (Rochechouart) while the Abbe Tetu talks
to her (Letter of Sept. 6, 1675). It might be done in two compartments,
with the wall slipt between, so as to show both Parties, as one has seen
on the Stage.

_To C. E. Norton_.

WOODBRIDGE. _Nov._ 3, 1880.

MY DEAR NORTON,

. . . With all your knowledge, and all the use you can make of it, I
wonder that you can think twice of such things as I can offer you in
return for what you send me: but I take you at your word, and shall
perhaps send you the last half of OEdipus, if I can prepare him for the
Printer; a rather hard business to me now, when turned of seventy, and
reminded by some intimations about the Heart that I am not likely to
exceed the time which those of my Family have stopped going at. But this
is no great Regret to me.

I have sent y