CHAPTER XXXVIII.

SUNSET LIGHTS.

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tenderer or wiser

There was such a last days that even

"SHE was in the fulness of her beauty and wisdom, writes Mrs. Ruck; 66 never was she than in the last year of her sweet life. wonderful strain of rejoicing in these the undercurrent of sadness seemed lost. It was an exquisite acquiescence in all around her. She was like an instrument perfectly in tune with nature and the circumstances which surrounded her."

To Mrs. A. Constable.

BRIGHTON, March 4, 1881.

After our early dinner, dear R. and I went to the dancing school, to me a quite exhilarating sight. I don't know why I, who am passing out of life, and have no grandchildren, should look with such tenderness at the little lads and lassies at their steps, with their honest endeavours to point their toes, and eyes fixed on the wonderfully lively and springy mistress. Then I turned in to Miss R, the marvellous old lady of eighty-six, whose activity, and rapidity of mind, and fluency are all remarkable, though sometimes, like her juniors, she mistakes or miscalls a name. Very admirable in conduct, I am sure, unworldly, generous, tolerant, she is the most thorough sceptic I have ever met; calls everything in question, and is a pessimist as to the prospect of humanity, though herself so brave and cheerful, and an element of happiness to others.

LONDON, March 18, 1881. go

When you come to London you will and see the Millais Exhibition, and oh, you will not fail to doat on the bull terrier who is consoling the child. Perhaps you have seen it. The tender roll of the dear creature's projecting and plain eyes seems to me the most marvellous achievement of this wonderful painter, who paints eyes I think as no other does. At the Miss R.'s we saw such work, my Mary, as I do not expect to see at the School of Art. The cleverness of people amazes me more

and more. .. Sunday will be a busy day. I lure Sophy to the Greek Church, where there is to be a solemn requiem for the poor Czar. In the afternoon Westminster Abbey, and tea with Ethel, and probably I shall go to the Carmelites in the evening. Monday dear General Cotton takes me to see the Deaf Mutes in the morning, and in the afternoon I hope to reach Blackheath with dear Mrs. Sowton. And the other days are all full. Indeed I should enjoy going about with you, my pretty one! I often wonder how it is there is this life and vivid interest in me. "God hath made me so," nor would my only loved, in the deep centre of my personality, blame me, I know.

GARTHEWIN, April 2, 1881.

This morning I have been reading the "Times" aloud to S. while she knitted, and she said she much liked being read to. To myself I read a letter of Lord Pembroke, which seemed to me that of a very superior, thoughtful man, having the historical sense. He is adverse to what he expects the coming Land Bill to be, and indeed, I dare say it will be a mere treating of symptoms, palliations instead of attempts at a radical cure. But when a country is managed by Government and Opposition, how ensure time for the slower process? Politics and doctoring are alike empirical. But the larger wisdom that belongs to a few will spread, and meanwhile there

must be dissatisfaction, or there would be no ideal and life would stagnate altogether. But these fundamental truths are mere offence to nine out of ten, who talk their newspapers the best they can, and enjoy the excitement of a vague belief in everything going to the dogs; much as rustics like a funeral, or strongly denounced damnation!

GARTHEWIN, April 20, 1881.

What a glorious day it is, though the north wind is high and keen. Just the day that my angel loved, and he has been with me every step of the way. Oh, the agony of love and hope! How blessed life and death seemed! The view from what is known as Mary's Terrace was quite perfect, but I went high, and sat sheltered by a gorse bush, and saw Snowdon emerge from cloudiness into sharp outline. The colour, the light, the joy of the rooks, the shining hollies, the silver-sheathed buds of the sycamores, the thankfulness for what has been! Snap follows so closely and even deigns to sit, while I read, and live in memory. Nature is to me an ecstasy on days like this.

To Miss Violetta Smith.

There never was a lovelier spring day than yesterday, and I had a longing for a mountain walk, so S. and I set off for the top of a nice manageable hill of about 1000 feet, from which there is a glorious view of the whole Snowdon range and also of the sea. We passed a cottage high on the hill, and the poor woman came out, and though she did not speak English nor I Welsh, I made out that she had a sick son. Alas, dying of consumption, wasting away it was most pathetic. There was no poverty, but of course the little delicacies one would like for all sick people could not be procured. Brownlow said at once when he heard of the youth that he would send, and so he has this evening; but I could not resist going again

myself this afternoon, and it was worth a longer climb to see the poor dying youth smile over the sweet tea roses, and say that what I put into his mouth was nice. Oh, my Vi, how thankful the heart is for any power of rendering the smallest service!

Their talk was too much of the dark side of village life to help on my spirits. Oh, more and more I feel that we only "live by admiration, hope, and love." The dark side is there, like the daily processes of physical deterioration and dying of the effete and used-up, which form part of our hourly experience of these bodies of ours; but they are not to be dwelt upon, it is not they which make up the outward and visible personality, but rather the light in the eye, the tenderness in the smile. I am not blaming these dear ones, who are better than I, and more energetic in their efforts to do good, -but explaining how it is that the evening rather lowered my vitality.

To Mrs. Lorimer.

GARTHEWIN, April 26, 1881. To think that during the last two months we have never exchanged one word! Oh, I hope and trust that on this glorious day you are quite happy about Mr. Lorimer, that he has quite shaken off the attack I was sorry to hear of two days ago. This is one of those days when joy seems the law of this life. Does sunshine thus exhilarate those accustomed to it? To me this is a day that brings back all the blessedness of that past, more actual than any present," in which alone I can be said to live. And I am so unspeakably relieved by Archie's letter of this morning about his precious father. . . . I wish you had been with me just now, sitting on dryest, softest moss, and tolerably sheltered by a furze bush, looking over treetops, silver-budded sycamores, shining hollies, redbranched birches, across a soft landscape of undulating

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and wooded ground, over which clouds were sweeping their blue shadows to the glorious Snowdon range. Oh, such a sky! Such cohorts of snowy clouds marching out of the northwest! I did not get high enough to see the But this is a most sweet country, preferable to dear Patterdale because here one can walk for hours where tourist never was seen. Now that you have that perfect country home, I feel I shall never have a chance of you for one of these quiet walks, with more in the point of companionship than months of such meetings as towns allow. I might as well wish for any other unattainability. But I do not leave off feeling how delightful it would be to have your dear society in some solitude, for the little, little space of time you with all your tendrils could endure it. . . . My brother has been delightfully energetic and well these last days. Tenants, well-wishers, and neighbours have got up a “Testimonial to his public and private worth and usefulness." The subscription has reached £400; but while some insist on a portrait and engraving from it, others wish the sum devoted to a more practical and permanent purpose. So there must be a compromise. His are very variable looks - a plain face into which almost beauty comes every now and then. Perhaps we all think this of the faces we know best, and perhaps it is so, the divine showing through at times.

To President Porter.

PATTERDALE, May 8, 1881.

I have much to thank you for, dear Dr. Porter-your photograph but it does not replace the smaller one I unaccountably lost. I am sure it does you less justice, and that Mrs. Porter is not satisfied. Understand that I am very glad to have it, but instinctively know it to be less successful, less characteristic, than the one I regret. Then it is to you that I gratefully owe the friendship of Mr. I can use no slighter word in the case of one