eld on blowing, more or less confidently, all winter through;
when even the Marigold failed.

Now, I meant to have intimated about those Flowers in a few French words
on a Postcard--purposely to prevent your answering--unless your rigorous
Justice could only be satisfied by a Post Card in return. But I was not
sure how you might like my Card; so here is a Letter instead; which I
really do beg you, as a favour, not to feel bound to answer. A time will
come for such a word.

By the by, you can make me one very acceptable return, I hope with no
further trouble than addressing it to me. That 'Nineteenth Century' for
February, with a Paper on 'King John' (your Uncle) in it. {179} Our
Country Bookseller has been for three weeks getting it for me--and now
says he cannot get it--'out of print.' I rather doubt that the Copy I
saw on your Table was only lent to you; if so, take no more trouble about
it; some one will find me a Copy.

I shall revolve in my own noble mind what you say about Jessica and her
Jewels: as yet, I am divided between you, and that old Serpent, Spedding.
Perhaps 'That is only his Fancy,' as he says of Shylock. What a light,
graceful, way of saying well-considered Truth!

I doubt you are serious in reminding me of my Tumbler on the Floor; and,
I doubt not, quite right in being so. This comes of one's living so long
either with no Company, or with only free and easy. But I am always the
same toward you, whether my Tumbler in the right place or not,

THE LAIRD OF LITTLEGRANGE.

LXXIV.

WOODBRIDGE, _April_ 6, [1880.] {180a}

MY DEAR LADY,

I hope my letter, and the Magazine which accompanies it, will not reach
you at a time when you have family troubles to think about. You can,
however, put letter and Magazine aside at once, without reading either;
and, anyhow, I wish once more--in vain, I suppose--that you would not
feel bound to acknowledge them.

I think this Atlantic, {180b} which I took in so long as you were
embarked on it, was sent me by Mr. Norton, to whom I had sent my Crabbe;
and he had, I suppose, shown it to Mr. Woodberry, the Critic. And the
Critic has done his work well, on the whole, I think: though not quite up
to my mark of praise, nor enough to create any revival of Interest in the
Poems. You will see that I have made two or three notes by the way: but
you are still less bound to read them than the text.

If you be not bothered, I shall ask you to return me the