he same from many other of his Letters, and
Thackeray asked Blackwood to give ten pounds for them for his Magazine.
But we heard no more of them.

I have the usual Story to tell of myself: middling well: still here,
pottering about my House, in which I expect an invalid Niece; and
preparing for my Ship in June. William Airy talks of coming to me soon.
I am daily expecting the Death of a Sister in law, a right good Creature,
who I thought would outlive me a dozen years, and should rejoice if she
could. Things look serious about one. If one only could escape easily
and at once! For _I_ think the Fun is over: but that should not be. May
you flourish in your high Place, my dear Master (now I say) for this long
while.

[_June_, 1866.]

MY DEAR THOMPSON,

I won't say that I should have gone to Ely under any Circumstances,
though it is the last Place I have been to stay at with a Friend: three
years ago! And all my Stays there were very pleasant indeed: and I do
not the less thank you for all your Constancy and Kindness. But one is
got down yet deeper in one's Way of Life: of which enough has been said.

William Airy was to have come here about this time: and him I am obliged
to put off because another old Fellow Collegian, Duncan, {77} who has
scarce stirred from his Dorsetshire Parsonage these twenty years, was
seized with a Passion to see me just once more, he says: and he is now
with me: a Hypochondriack Man, nervous, and restless, with a vast deal of
uncouth Humour. . . .

My Ship is afloat, with a new Irish Ensign; but I have scarce been about
with her yet owing to 'Mr. Wesley's Troubles.' {78a}

Only yesterday I took down my little Tauchnitz Sophocles to carry to Sea
with me; and made Duncan here read--

[Greek text], {78b} etc.

and began to blubber a little at

[Greek text], etc.

in the other Great Play. {78c} The Elgin Marbles, and something more,
began to pass before my Eyes.

I believe I write all this knowing you are at Ely: where I suppose you
are more at Leisure than on your Throne in Trinity. But no doubt your
Tyranny follows you there too; post Equitem and all.

_To E. B. Cowell_.

WOODBRIDGE: Friday
[_June_, 1866].

MY DEAR COWELL,

I got your new Address from your Brother a Fortnight ago. You don't
write to me for the very good reason that you have so much to do: I don't
write to you because I have nothing to do, and so nothing to tell you of.
My idle reading all goes