hould stop short of many a sin if we'd _face_ what
we're going to do" (Dangerous precipitation of the whole Chaplain at
the heads of the privates below.) "Some of you ask yourselves that
question to-day--this evening _as you're walking to Aldershot_,
'Wherefore am I come?' And don't let the Devil put something else into
your head, but just _answer it_," etc. etc.

He's not exactly an _equal_ or a _finished_ preacher for highly
educated ears, but that sort of transparent candour which he has makes
him _very_ affecting when on his favourite topic, the inexhaustible
love of God. His face when he quotes--"The Son of God Who loved _Me_
and gave Himself for _Me_," is like a man showing the Rock he has
clung to himself in shipwreck.

TO C.T.G.

_X Lines._ July 22, 1874.

DEAREST CHARLIE,

It was a _great_ disappointment not to see you! Now don't fail me next
week--you scoundrel! I want you _most_ particularly for most selfish
reasons. I am just taking my hero[38] into Victoria Docks, and want to
dip my brush in _Couleur locale_ with your help. Do come, and we'll go
up to London by _barge_ and sketch all the way!!! I know an A1
Bargemaster, and we can get beds at the inns _en route_. A two days'
voyage! Or we can go for a shorter period and come home by rail. It
won't cost us much.

[Footnote 38: "A Great Emergency," vol. xi.]

I am so glad to think of you in the dear _Old_--_New_ Forest.

* * * * *

Now mind you come--if only to see my Nelson (bureau) Relic!! It is
such a comfort to me and _my papers_!

Ever your most loving sister,
J.H.E.

TO MRS. ELDER.

_X Lines, South Camp._ August 7, 1874.

MY DEAR AUNT HORATIA,

I have begged the Tiger Tom for you!

He is the handsomest I ever saw, with such a head! His name is
_Peter_. [_Sketch._]

Nothing--I assure you, can exceed his beauty--or the depth of his
stripes....

If I had not too many cats already I should have adopted Peter long
ago. We always quote William Blake's poem to him when we see him
prowling about our garden.

"Tiger! Tiger! burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal Hand and Eye
Framed thy fearful symmetry?"

Do you remember it?

I feel _quite a wretch_ not to like your "Ploughman"[39] as well as
usual. There is always poetry in your things, but TO ME the
_spirit_ of this one has not quite that reality which is the highest
virtue of "a sentiment"--or at least it