Your note reached me this morning, but it belonged to my husband, for it was he who wrote to you; so I gave it to him, glad to put into his hands so precious a piece of manuscript, for he has for you and all your work an enthusiastic appreciation such as is seldom found on this planet: it is not possible that the admiration of one mortal for another can exceed his feeling for you. You might have written for him, I've a friend over the sea, . . . . It all grew out of the books I write, &c. You should see his fine wrath and scorn for the idiocy that doesn't at once comprehend you! He knows every word you have ever written; long ago 'Sordello' was an open book to him from title-page to closing line, and _all_ you have printed since has been as eagerly and studiously devoured. He reads you aloud (and his reading is a fine art) to crowds of astonished people, he swears by you, he thinks no one save Shakspere has a right to be mentioned in the same century with you. You are the great enthusiasm of his life. Pardon me, you are smiling, I dare say. You hear any amount of such things, doubtless. But a genuine living appreciation is always worth having in this old world, it is like a strong fresh breeze from off the brine, that puts a sense of life and power into a man. You cannot be the worse for it. Yours very sincerely, Celia Thaxter. When Mr. Thaxter died, in February 1885, his son wrote to Mr. Browning to beg of him a few lines to be inscribed on his father's tombstone. The little poem by which the request was answered has not yet, I believe, been published. 'Written to be inscribed on the gravestone of Levi Thaxter.' Thou, whom these eyes saw never,--say friends true Who say my soul, helped onward by my song, Though all unwittingly, has helped thee too? I gave but of the little that I knew: How were the gift requited, while along Life's path I pace, could'st thou make weakness strong, Help me with knowledge--for Life's old, Death's new! R. B. April 19, '85. A publication which connected itself with the labours of the Society, without being directly inspired by it, was the annotated 'Strafford' prepared by Miss Hickey for the use of students. It may be agreeable to those who use the little work to know the estimate in which Mr. Browning held it. He wrote as follows: 19, Warwick Crescent, W.: February 15, 1884. Dear Miss Hickey,--I have returned the Proofs by post,--nothing can be better than your notes--and with a real wish to be of use, I read them carefully that I might detect never so tiny a fault,--but I found none--unless (to show you how minutely I searched,) it should be one that by 'thriving in your contempt,' I meant simply 'while you despise them, and for all that, they thrive and are powerful to do you harm.' The idiom you prefer--quite an authorized one--comes to much the same thing after all.