ur mouths, and to crack our nuts
innocently through winter and rough weather.

I shall post this to-morrow as I pass through Skipton or any
post-worthy place on my way to Wakefield. Write to Warwick. Oh me,
what places England had, when she was herself! Now, rail stations
mostly. But I never can make out how Warwick Castle got built by that
dull bit of river.

[Footnote 13: Of the things that shall be, hereafter.--J. R.]

* * * * *

"FRONDES."

WAKEFIELD, _25th January, 1875_.

Here's our book in form at last, and it seems to me just a nice size,
and on the whole very taking. I've put a touch or two more to the
preface, and I'm sadly afraid there's a naughty note somewhere. I hope
you won't find it, and that you will like the order the things are put
in.

Such ill roads as we came over to-day, I never thought to see in
England.

* * * * *

CASTLETON, _26th January, 1875_.

Here I have your long dear letter. I am very thankful I can be so much
to you. Of all the people I have yet known, you are the only one I can
find complete sympathy in; you are so nice and young without the
hardness of youth, and may be the best of sisters to me. I am not so
sure about letting you be an elder one; I am not going to be lectured
when I'm naughty.

I've been so busy at _wasps_ all day coming along, having got a nice
book about them. It tells me, too, of a delightful German doctor who
kept tame hornets,--a whole nest in his study! They knew him
perfectly, and would let him do anything with them, even pull bits off
their nest to look in at it.

Wasps, too, my author says, are really much more amiable than bees,
and never get angry without cause. All the same, they have a tiresome
way of inspecting one, too closely, sometimes, I think.

I'm immensely struck with the Peak Cavern, but it was in twilight.

I'm going to stay here all to-morrow, the place is so entirely
unspoiled. I've not seen such a primitive village, rock, or stream,
this twenty years; Langdale is as sophisticated as Pall Mall in
comparison.

* * * * *

WASP STINGS.

BOLTON BRIDGE, _Saturday_.

I never was more thankful than for your sweet note, being stopped here
by bad weather again; the worst of posting is that one has to think of
one's servant outside, and so