"all
her living," and whom I found last night, dying, slowly and quietly,
in a damp room, just the size of your study (which her landlord won't
mend the roof of), by the light of a single tallow candle--dying, I
say, _slowly_, of consumption, not yet near the end, but
contemplating it with sorrow, mixed partly with fear, lest she should
not have done all she could for her children!

The sight of all this and my own shameful comforts, three wax candles
and blazing fire and dry roof, and Susie and Joanie for friends!

Oh me, Susie, what _is_ to become of me in the next world, who
have in this life all my good things!

* * * * *

What a sweet, careful, tender letter this is! I re-inclose it at once
for fear of mischief, though I've scarcely read, for indeed my eyes
are weary, but I see what gentle mind it means.

Yes, you will love and rejoice in your Chaucer more and more. Fancy,
I've never time, now, to look at him,--obliged to read even my Homer
and Shakespeare at a scramble, half missing the sense,--the business
of life disturbs one so.

* * * * *

HERNE HILL.

[Illustration: Plan of Ruskin's room]

Here's your letter first thing in the morning, while I'm sipping my
coffee in the midst of such confusion as I've not often achieved at my
best. The little room, which I think is as nearly as possible the size
of your study, but with a lower roof, has to begin with--A, my bed;
B, my basin stand; C, my table; D, my chest of drawers; thus arranged
in relation to E, the window (which has still its dark bars to prevent
the little boy getting out); F, the fireplace; G, the golden or
mineralogical cupboard; and H, the grand entrance. The two dots with a
back represent my chair, which is properly solid and not _un_-easy.
Three others of lighter disposition find place somewhere about. These
with the chimney-piece and drawer's head are covered, or rather
heaped, with all they can carry, and the morning is just looking in,
astonished to see what is expected of it, and smiling--(yes, I may
fairly say it is smiling, for it is cloudless for its part above the
smoke of the horizon line)--at Sarah's hope and mine, of ever getting
that room into order by twelve o'clock. The chimney-piece with its
bottles, spoons, lozenge boxes, matches, candlesticks, and letters
jammed behind them, does appear to me entirely hopeless, and this the