“. . . I do not think there is anything to be told of Woodbridge News: anyhow, I know of none: sometimes not going into the Street for Days together. I have a new Reader—Son of Fox the Binder—who is intelligent, enjoys something of what he reads, can laugh heartily, and does not mind being told not to read through his Nose: which I think is a common way in Woodbridge, perhaps in Suffolk.”
“Woodbridge, March 31/79.
[‘Letters, p. 435.]
“. . . A month ago Ellen Churchyard told me—what she was much scolded for telling—that for some three weeks previous Mrs Howe had been suffering so from Rheumatism that she had been kept awake in pain, and could scarce move about by day, though she did the house work as usual, and would not tell me. I sent for Mr Jones at once, and got Mrs Cooper in, and now Mrs H. is better, she says. But as I tell her, she only gives a great deal more of the trouble she wishes to save one by such obstinacy. We are now reading the fine ‘Legend of Montrose’ till 9; then, after ten minutes’ refreshment, the curtain rises on Dickens’s Copperfield, by way of Farce after the Play; both admirable. I have been busy in a small way preparing a little vol. of ‘Readings in Crabbe’s Tales of the Hall’ for some few who will not encounter the original Book. I do not yet know if it will be published, but I shall have done a little work I long wished to do, and I can give it away to some who will like it. I will send you a copy if you please when it is completed.”
“11 Marine Terrace, Lowestoft, Wednesday.
“Dear Spalding,—Please to spend a Sovereign for your Children or among them, as you and they see good.
I have lost the Faculty of choosing Presents, you still enjoy it: so do this little Office for me. All good and kind wishes to Wife and Family: a happy Xmas is still no idle word to you.”
“Woodbridge, Jan. 12, ’82.
[‘Letters,’ p. 477.]
“. . . The Aconite, which Mr Churchyard used to call ‘New Year’s Gift,’ has been out in my Garden for this fortnight past. Thrushes (and, I think, Blackbirds) try to sing a little: and half yesterday I was sitting, with no more apparel than in my rooms, on my Quarter-deck” [i.e., the walk in the garden of Little Grange].
“April 1, 1882. [‘Letters,’ p. 481.]
“Thank you for your Birthday Greeting—a Ceremony which, I nevertheless think, is almost better forgotten at my time of life. But it is an old, and healthy, custom. I do not quite shake off my Cold, and shall, I suppose, be more liable to it hereafter. But what wonderful weather! I see the little trees opposite my window perceptibly greener every morning. Mr Wood persists in delaying to send the seeds of Annuals; but I am going to send for them to-day. My Hyacinths have been gay, though not so fine as last year’s: and I have some respectable single red Anemones—always favourites of mine.