Chapter LXXIX: WOODBRIDGE: Friday, 30 July, 1880

MY DEAR LADY,

I send you Mowbray's reply to my letter of nearly three weeks ago. No good news of his Father--still less of our Army (news to me told to-day) altogether a sorry budget to greet you on your return to London. But the public news you knew already, I doubt not: and I thought as well to tell you of our Donne at once.

I suppose one should hardly talk of anything except this Indian Calamity: {193} but I am selfish enough to ignore, as much as I can, such Evils as I cannot help.

I think that Tennyson in calling Tom Taylor the 'cleverest man,' etc., meant pretty much as you do. I believe he said it in reply to something I may have said that was less laudatory. At one time Tennyson almost lived with him and the Wigans whom I did not know. Taylor always seemed to me as 'clever' as any one: was always very civil to me: but one of those toward whom I felt no attraction. He was too clever, I think. As to Art, he knew nothing of it then, nor (as he admits) up to 1852 or thereabout, when he published his very good Memoir of Haydon. I think he was too 'clever' for Art also.

Why will you write of 'If you _bid_ me come to Lowestoft in October,' etc., which, you must know, is just what I should not ask you to do: knowing that, after what you say, you would come, if asked, were--(a Bull begins here)--were it ever so unlikely for you. I am going thither next week, to hear much (I dare say) of a Brother in Ireland who may be called to India; and am

Ever yours sincerely, LITTLEGRANGE.

Why won't you write to me from Switzerland to say where a Letter may find you? If not, the Harvest Moon will pass!