Of all the schools that I know none is so attractive as this. Its age, its traditions, its beauty, alone would single it out: but I am taken with its spirit too. When I go to see Dick I naturally meet many of his school-fellows; and I find a candour and friendliness which is a strange contrast to the social reserves of boys from other schools I could name. I don’t know whether the whole school is similarly fortunate, but in Dick’s house there is a door-opening, door-closing and passing-the-salt tendency which I fancy is often bad form elsewhere. To talk with the immature man is never easy, wherever you find him, and my inclination would always be to jump the gulf that is fixed between real childhood and real manhood; but Dick’s companions are easier. Nephews and uncles go through strange vicissitudes. At first the uncle is an imposing creature who appears but rarely and when he does must be treated with respect and called Uncle on every occasion. And then as the boy grows older and understands the powers and possibilities of half-crowns the uncle takes on a god-like mien. And then, older still, he meets him on more equal terms; which get more and more equal until the time comes when he discovers that this once remarkable person is nothing but a fogey and a bore. Some uncles, before this last stage is reached, attach themselves to their nephews as satellites or boon companions and vie with them in youthfulness, but I am not likely ever to do that. The relations of son and father have somewhat similar stages, but there is as a rule too close a tie there to permit of the half-contemptuous easy terms on which nephew and uncle often rub along. Dick is a good boy and should do well. I watched him this afternoon longing to hit out but knowing that the game demanded self-repression, and admired him and saw earnest of sound citizenship in it. The next thing is to make sure he gets into my dear Bannister’s College at Cambridge. But, Verena, how glorious to be a boy! And yet how comforting, now and then, to be old enough to be useful to the young—when they will let us!—Good night, R. H. The poem:— Why do our joys depart For cares to seize the heart? I know not. Nature says, Obey; and man obeys. I see, and know not why Thorns live and roses die. W. S. LANDOR CXXXVIII HAZEL BARRANCE TO NESTA ROSSITER MY DEAR NESTA,—I have had a brain-wave. Why should not I go down to Combehurst until you are free again and sleep near the children and let Emily go on attending to them by day, as she suggests, and keep an eye on her? I am willing to. This would also liberate Fred for his Dormy House, whither he could lug his clubs with a clear conscience. If you accept this offer, don’t overwhelm me with gratitude, because I shall be pleasing myself more than anything else, this abode being at the moment a most suitable one to leave.