Mowbray also says, that you may have seen our other
old friend Donne in somewhat worse plight than usual because of his being
much shocked at this accident. He would feel it indeed!--as you do.

I had even thought of writing to tell you all this, but could not but
suppose that you were more likely to know of it than myself; though
sometimes one is greatly mistaken with these 'of course you knows, etc.'
But you have known it all: and have very kindly written of it to me, whom
you might also have supposed already informed of it: but you took the
trouble to write, not relying on 'of course you know, etc.'

I have thought lately that I ought to make some enquiry about Arthur
Malkin, who was always very kind to me. I had meant to send him my
Crabbe, who was a great favourite of his Father's, 'an excellent
Companion for Old Age' he told--Donne, I think. But I do not know if I
ever did send him the Book; and now, judging by what you tell me, it is
too late to do so, unless for Compliment.

The Sun, I see, has put my Fire out, for which I only thank him, and will
go to look for him himself in my Garden, only with a Green Shade over my
Eyes. I must get to London to see you before you move away to
Leamington; when I can bear Sun or Lamp without odious blue glasses, etc.
I dare to think those Eyes are better, though not Sun-proof.

_To C. E. Norton_.

WOODBRIDGE. _March_ 13, [1881].

MY DEAR NORTON,

I send you along with this Letter Part II. of OEdipus, with some
corrections or suggestions which I have been obliged to make in Pencil,
because of the Paper blotting under the lightest Penwork. And, along
with it, a preliminary Letter, which I believe I told you of also,
addressed to your Initial: for I did not wish to compromise you even with
yourself in such a Business. I know you will like it probably more than
it deserves, and excuse its inroads on the Original, though you may, and
probably will, think I might better have left it alone, or followed it
more faithfully. As to those Students you tell me of who are meditating,
or by this time may have accomplisht, their Representation, they could
only look on me as a Blasphemer. . . .

It seems almost wrong or unreasonable of me to be talking thus of myself
and my little Doings, when not only Carlyle has departed from us, but
one, not so illustrious in Genius, but certainly not less wise, my dear
old Friend of sixty years, James Spedding: {302} whose name you will kno