will live at Cambridge among the Learned; but, I repeat, you
would rather live among the Ignorant. However, your Path is cut out for
you: and, to be sure, it is a more useful and proper one for you than the
cool sequestered one which one might like to travel.

I am here in my little Ship--cool and sequestered enough, to be sure--with
no Company but my Crew of Two, and my other--Captain of the Lugger now a-
building: a Fellow I never tire of studying--If he _should_ turn out
knave, I shall have done with all Faith in my own Judgment: and if he
should go to the Bottom of the Sea in the Lugger--I sha'n't cry for the
Lugger.

Well, but I have other Company too--Don Quixote--the 4th Part: where
those Snobs, the Duke and Duchess--(how vulgar Great Folks then, as now!)
make a Fool and Butt of him. Cervantes should have had more respect for
his own Creation: but, I suppose, finding that all the Great Snobs could
only _laugh_ at the earlier part, he thought he had better humour them.
This very morning I read the very verses you admired to me twenty years
ago--

Ven muerte tan escondida, etc.

They are quoted ironically in Part IV. Lib. VII. Ch. 38.

Ever yours, E. F. G.

WOODBRIDGE: _Oct._ 12 [1867].

MY DEAR COWELL,

When you have leisure you will let me know of your being settled at
Cambridge? I also want to have your exact Address because I want to send
you the Dryden and Crabbe's Life I promised you. At present you are busy
with your Inaugural Address, I suppose; beside that you feel scarce at
home yet in your new Quarters.

Mr. Allenby told me on Wednesday that Mrs. Charlesworth was really up
again, and even got to Cambridge. Please to remember me to her, and to
all your Party.

My Ship is still afloat: but I have scarce used her during the last cold
weather. I was indeed almost made ill sleeping two nights in that cold
Cabin. I may, however, run to Lowestoft and back; but by the end of next
week I suppose she (the Ship) will be laid up in the Mud; my Men will
have eaten the Michaelmas Goose which I always regale them with on
shutting up shop; and I may come home to my Fire here to read 'The Woman
in White' and play at Patience:--which (I mean the Game at Cards so
called) I now do by myself for an hour or two every night. Perhaps old
Montaigne may drop in to chat with and comfort me: but Sophocles, Don
Quixote, and Boccaccio--I think I must leave them with their Halo of Sea
and Sunshine about them.