the village are so glad
to see him--and it is very nice.

He took up his duties here on our 16th wedding day!

The place suits him admirably. I felt sure it would. But I did not
hope _I_ should feel as well in it as I do. It IS hot--and
not VERY dry--but it is _much_ less relaxing than I thought,
and where we have got our house it is high and breezy--and very, very
nice. I am most thankful, and only long to get settled and be able to
work!

We are in lodgings close to--next door to--the very fine barracks. Our
room looks into the barrack-yard, and the dear bugles wake and send us
to sleep!

Your loving
J.H.E.

Caldecott has done _seventeen_ illustrations to "Jackanapes."

TO MRS. A.P. GRAVES.

June 15, 1883.

MY DEAR MRS. GRAVES,

Once more I thank you for lovely flowers! including one of my chief
favourites--a white Iris. It is very good of you. You do not know what
pleasure they give me! If you continue to bless me with an occasional
nosegay when I move into my house, I shall not so bitterly suffer from
the barrenness of the garden.

This is suggestive of the nasty definition of gratitude that it is a
keen sense of favours to come!

I have been meaning to write to you to express something of our
delight with the "Songs of Old Ireland."

Major Ewing is charmed by the melodies, on which his opinion is worth
something and mine is not! and _I_ can't "read them out of a printed
book" without an instrument. But--we are equally charmed by the
words!!

It is a very rare pleasure to be able to give way to unmitigated
enjoyment of modern verse by one's friends. Don't you know? But we
have fairly raved over one after the other of these charming songs!

I do hope Mr. Graves does not consider that friendly criticisms come
under the head of "personal remarks" and are offensive!

I cannot say how truly I appreciate them. Anything absolutely
first-rately done of its kind is always very refreshing, and I do not
see how such national songs could be done much better. They are Irish
to the core!

Irish in local colour--in wealth of word variety--in poetry of the
earliest and freshest type--in shallow passion like a pebbly
brook!--and in a certain comicality and shrewdness. Irish--I was going
to say in refinement, but that is not the word--modern literature is
full of refinements--but Irish in the surpassingly Irish grace of
purity, so rare a quality in modern verse!

How we have laughed over Father O'Flynn!