a Kempis. I have given that book to men of uncultivated
minds, who were _also_ presbyterians, but all relish it. I do not
believe it is possible for any one to read that book earnestly
from its beginning, and think of popish, or non-popish, or of
anything but the man whom it presents and brings to us.

_May 8._--Unfortunately I can give you no light on the question of
time. I, a bear chained to a stake, cannot tell when the principal
run will be made at me, and as I can only scratch once I must wait
if possible till then. The only person who could give you _des
renseignements suffisants_ is Disraeli. Tennyson's note is
charming. I return it, and with it a touching note from Princess
Alice, which reached me this evening. Pray let me have it again.

_1863_

_Jan. 23._--I am so sorry to be unable to come to you, owing to an
engagement to-night at the admiralty. I am ashamed of being
utterly destitute of news--full of figures and all manner of
dulnesses.... I went, however, to the Drury Lane pantomime last
night, and laughed beyond measure; also enjoyed looking from a
third row, unseen myself, at your brother and the Blantyre party.

_Bowden Park, Chippenham, Feb. 7._--I feel as if your generous and
overflowing sympathies made it truly unkind to draw you further
into the sorrows of this darkened house. My brother [John] closed
his long and arduous battle in peace this morning at six o'clock;
and if the knowledge that he had the love of all who knew him,
together with the assurance that he is at rest in God, could
satisfy the heart, we ought not to murmur. But the visitation is
no common one. Eight children, seven of them daughters, of whom
only one is married and most are young, with one little boy of
seven, lost their mother last February, and now see their father
taken. He dies on his marriage day, we are to bury him on the
first anniversary of his wife's death. Altogether it is piteous
beyond belief. It was affectionate anxiety in her illness that
undermined his health; it was reluctance to make his children
uneasy that made him suffer in silence, and travel to Bath for
advice and an operation when he should have been in his bed. In
this double sense he has offered up his life. The grief is very
sharp, and as yet I am hardly reconciled to it.... But enough and
too much.