Squire to exchange
with Hodge for the good of his own soul, but I think it fosters a
fixed conviction that Hodge has nothing to complain of, _plus_ being
placed at a particular advantage as to his eternal concerns.

Will you ever forgive me? I like the descriptive parts so much, the
"rival cocks at dawn"--the "autumn's mist and spring's soft rain," the
team that "turn in their trace in the furrow's face," and the
life-like descriptions in verse 4. It is as true to one's observation
as it is graceful....

Your loving niece,
J.H.E.

TO A.E.

_Ecclesfield._ May 14, 1876.

[_Sketch._] Do you remember Whitley Hall? I used to be so fond of the
place when I was a child, and no one lived there but an old woman--old
Esther Woodhouse--with a face like an ideal witch--at the lodge. As
you know I always hated _writing down_--but long before I accomplished
a tale on paper I wrote a novel _in my head_ to Whitley Hall, and used
to walk about in the wood there, by the pond--_to think it_!

_York._ February 23, 1879.

... Yesterday was sunny though cold, and I had a delicious drive to
Escrick and Naburn. Oh, it _does_ send thrills of delight through me,
when the hay-coloured hedge-grass begins to mix itself with green, and
the hedges have a very brown-madderish tint in the sun, and all the
trunks of all the old trees are far greener than the fields, and the
earth is turned over, and the rooks hold Parliaments.

* * * * *

[_York._] Easter Day, 1879.

... I went to Church at S. John's, Mr. Wilberforce's Church; I had
never been in it. That window with S. Christopher, and those strange
representations of the Trinity, and the five Master Yorkes kneeling
all in blue on one side, and their four sisters on the other, is very
wonderful. One of the most wonderful. How fascinating these dear old
churches are! Mr. Wilberforce has a fine voice, a most rich and
flexible baritone, and sings ballads with a great deal of taste and
expression. I shall for ever love York and its marble-white walls and
dear old churches, but "Benedetta sia 'l giorno e 'l mese e 'l anno,"
when you set your face with your black poodle towards the island
called Melita! This north-east wind which still blows _cruelly_ would
have made you very ill, I think....

I must tell you of another thing. On Thursday I went to the Blind
School to a concert. I went rather against my will, for you know I was
sadly impressed before