Magazine. I
have some thought of taking it in again, as I like to see what goes on in
the literary way in America, and I found their critics often more
impartial in their estimation of English Authors than our own Papers are,
as one might guess would be the case.

I was, and am, reading your Records again, before this Atlantic came to
remind me of you. I have Bentley's second Edition. I feel the Dullness
of that Dinner Party in Portland Place {181a} (I know it was) when Mrs.
Frere sang. She was somewhile past her prime then (1831), but could sing
the Classical Song, or Ballad, till much later in Life. Pasta too, whom
you then saw and heard! I still love the pillars of the old Haymarket
Opera House, where I used to see placarded MEDEA IN CORINTO. {181b}

And I am still yours sincerely
LITTLEGRANGE.

You are better off in London this black weather.

P.S. Since my letter was written, I receive the promised one from
Mowbray: his Father well: indeed, in better health and Spirits than
usual: and going with Blanche to Southwell on Wednesday (to-morrow)
fortnight.

His London house almost, if not quite, out of Quarantine. But--do not
go! say I.

LXXV.

WOODBRIDGE: _April_ 23, [1880.]

MY DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,

I was really sorry to hear from you that you were about to move again. I
suppose the move has been made by this time: as I do not know whither, I
must trouble Coutts, I suppose, to forward my Letter to you; and then you
will surely tell me your new Address, and also how you find yourself in
it.

I have nothing to report of myself, except that I was for ten days at
Lowestoft in company (though not in the house) with Edward Cowell the
Professor: with whom, as in last Autumn, I read, and all but finished,
the second part of Don Quixote. There came Aldis Wright to join us; and
he quite agrees with what you say concerning the Jewel-robbery in the
Merchant of Venice. He read me the Play; and very well; thoroughly
understanding the text: with clear articulation, and the moderate
emphasis proper to room-reading; with the advantage also of never having
known the Theatre in his youth, so that he has not picked up the twang of
any Actor of the Day. Then he read me King John, which he has some
thoughts of editing next after Richard III. And I was reminded of you at
Ipswich twenty-eight years ago; and of your Father--his look up at
Angiers' Walls as he went out in Act ii. I wonder that Mrs. Siddons
sho