well (always living by Discipline and
Rule), tells me that he has begged you to return to England if you would
make sure of seeing him again. I told Pollock of your great Interest in
Macready: I too find that I am content to have bought the Book, and feel
more interest in the Man than in the Actor. My Mother used to know him
once: but I never saw him in private till once at Pollock's after his
retirement: when he sat quite quiet, and (as you say) I was sorry not to
have made a little Advance to him, as I heard he had a little wished to
see me because of that old Acquaintance with my Mother. I should like to
have told him how much I liked much of his Performance; asked him why he
would say 'Amen stu-u-u-u-ck in my Throat' (which was a bit of wrong, as
well as vulgar, Judgment, I think). But I looked on him as the great Man
of the Evening, unpresuming as he was: and so kept aloof, as I have ever
done from all Celebrities--yourself among them--who I thought must be
wearied enough of Followers and Devotees--unless those of Note.

I am now writing in the place--in the room--from which I wrote ten years
ago--it all recurs to me--with Montaigne for my Company, and my Lugger
about to be built. Now I have brought Madame de Sevigne (who loved
Montaigne too--the capital Woman!) and the Lugger--Ah, there is a long
sad Story about that!--which I won't go into--

Little Quaritch seems to have dropt Agamemnon, Lord of Hosts, for the
present: and I certainly am not sorry, for I think it would only have
been abused by English Critics: with some, but not all, Justice. You are
very good in naming your American Publisher, but I suppose it must be
left at present with Quaritch, to whom I wrote a 'Permit,' so long as I
had nothing to do with it.

Ever yours
E. F.G.

XXXIX.

[LOWESTOFT, _April_, 1876.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

From Lowestoft still I date: as just ten years ago when I was about
building a Lugger, and reading Montaigne. The latter holds his own with
me after three hundred years: and the Lugger does not seem much the worse
for her ten years' wear, so well did she come bouncing between the Piers
here yesterday, under a strong Sou'-Wester. My Great Captain has her no
more; he has what they call a 'Scotch Keel' which is come into fashion:
her too I see: and him too steering her, broader and taller than all the
rest: fit to be a Leader of Men, Body and Soul; looking now Ulysses-like.
Two or three years ago he