I
conclude, seeing that he himself had written to me only a Fortnight
before, telling me of Whewell's Disaster, and sincerely hoping for his
Recovery, from a Dread of a new King Log or King Stork, he said. He also
said something of coming here at Easter: which now, I suppose, he won't
be able to do. I have written to congratulate him in a sober way on his
Honours; for, at our Time of Life, I think exultation would be
unseasonable on either side. He will make a magnanimous Master, I
believe; doing all the Honours of his Station well, if he have health.

Spedding wrote me a kind long Letter some while ago. Duncan tells me
Cameron has had a slight Paralysis. Death seems to rise like a Wall
against one now whichever way one looks. When I read Boswell and other
Memoirs now, what presses on me most is--All these people who talked and
acted so busily are gone. It is said that when Talma advanced upon the
Stage his Thought on facing the Audience was, that they were all soon to
be Nothing.

I bought Croker's Boswell; which I find good to refer to, but not to
read; so hashed up it is with interpolations. Besides, one feels somehow
that a bad Fellow like Croker mars the Good Company he introduces. One
should stop with Malone, who was a good Gentleman: only rather too loyal
to Johnson, and so unjust to any who dared hint a fault in him. Yet
_they_ were right. Madame D'Arblay, who was also so vext with Mrs.
Piozzi, admits that she had a hard time with Johnson in his last two
years; so irritable and violent he became that she says People would not
ask _him_ when they invited all the rest of the Party.

Why, my Paper is done, talking about these dead and gone whom you and I
have only known in Print; and yet as well so as most we know in person. I
really find my Society in such Books; all the People seem humming about
me. But now let me hear of you, Allen: and of Wife and Family.

Ever yours, E. F. G.

_To W. H. Thompson_.

MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE.
[_March_, 1866.]

MY DEAR THOMPSON,

I should write 'My dear Master' but I don't know if you are yet
installed. However, I suppose my Letter, so addressed, will find you and
not the Old Lion now stalking in the Shades. . . .

In burning up a heap of old Letters, which one's Executors and Heirs
would make little of, I came upon several of Morton's from Italy: so good
in Parts that I have copied those Parts into a Blank Book. When he was
in his money Troubles I did t