Foxholes, February 16th.
My dear Reeve,—I imagine that this morning Mrs. Reeve will have got a note from my wife telling her of our settlement here. I was contemplating 'a few words' to you, when Lady H. told me of her writing; and now comes your letter, partly of welcome, partly of information.
I don't think it possible that we could be more happily housed. Size, arrangement, warmth, beauty, inside and out, evidences everywhere of cultivated taste and refined pursuits—all is calculated for enjoyment and repose, probably for anybody, certainly for an invalid. I have established myself in a corner of the library—which, partly from its intrinsic advantages and partly from the presence of a thick cushion in the seat of the armchair, I conjecture to be yours—between the writing desk and the N.W. bookcase, with the N.E. window at my back and my legs protruding beyond the jamb of the mantelpiece into the sacred [Greek: temeuos], which is guarded by a low marble fence, and over which the fire which I worship has sway. Both by day and by night the situation is perfect for distribution of light and warmth. And I can read almost all my waking hours; for all through my illness my head has been clear. My principal embarrassment is to choose among the many temptations with which your goodly bookcases beset me. However, after reading Traill's 'William III.' (a rather thin composition, I think) I have settled into Gardiner's 'Civil War,' which is much more solid and satisfying.
This morning I have been reading your little notice of Lord Derby; and I think you do not speak at all too highly of his capacity for examining political and social movements. In 1880 I delivered a lecture, which was printed and circulated, on the eternal division of political tendencies—movement and rest; and I took Lord Derby (then temporarily in the Liberal Camp) as the best type of conservatism; cool, patient, keen, sceptical, critical, just, impartial, with a mind always open to conviction, but refusing to move until convinced. Such men are an invaluable element in the deliberative stages of every question; but their very critical powers paralyse action, and when movement becomes necessary their hesitations are a drawback. I fancy that Cornewall Lewis was just such another, but I did not know so much about him….
For me, I improve, slowly but enough, I think, to show at least that our move was not premature. In the pick of the day (would that it were always afternoon) I am able to walk for an hour or more, and I get good sleep in the most luxurious of beds. Pray give my kind remembrances to Mrs. Reeve, and believe me,
Sincerely yours,
HOBHOUSE.
Foxholes, March 6th.—Alas, alas! time flies away, and pleasant things come to an end, and I shall not have many days' more enjoyment of your charming house and library and outlook. But my time has not been wasted. I have recovered strength, a good deal more than I expected, and am probably now—at all events hope, by our return next Monday or Tuesday, to be—able to re-enter the ordinary routine of life. Of course, we have had, like other people, a great deal of blustering wind—for the most part from north-west—very cold and very noisy in your chimneys. But there has also been a great deal of sunshine with the gales, and the exposure of your house to south-east has, on most days, given us a sheltered walk. Moreover, your soil is so porous and absorbent, that one gets dry walking immediately after rain. I have only been kept indoors two days since our arrival.
A few letters from Reeve himself show the continued activity of his mind, and at the same time his consciousness of, his readiness for, the end which was drawing nigh.
To Mr. T. Norton Longman