what it means? Yes, I should love both those cali and I think I could paint then a their topag eyes, I really can paint press now, well if and I had any boch I had anybody to squeeze me out the colours, it does Tab nech a time, fin always tried befor I begia. chauce mine Man to be still jealous I havish the learn a chit, nor a mite of a between the Old Man & Ish f Letween old Ireland me This letter is of unusual interest, for it is almost the last letter written by Ruskin. After the middle of 1889 he placed aside his pen and awaited the end. BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, LANCASHIRE, 28th April!!!! 1885 ! ! ! ! DARLING LUCY: Where are you and what do you mean by never sending me a word-snap-or scratch of paw, these months-years-ages. I'm seven years older at least since I had a letter-and ever so jealous of St. D. or Mac D. I'm writing about twenty books at once, and editing twenty more of other peoples, and yet you won't write without my writing begging letters-you might as well be a fish as a Lucy, if you're to go on like that! Tell me all about those Punchestown races directly. Ever your loving but cross LETTER VIII J. R. [The Susie of this letter is Miss Susan Beever. A deep friendship had existed between them since 1874. She had helped him in his work and had made the extracts from "Modern Painters," published under the title of "Frondes Agrestes." Ruskin published in her lifetime a selec tion of his letters to her and to her sister under the title of "Hortus Inclusus: Messages from the Wood to the Garden," sent in happy days to the Sister Ladies of the Thwaite, Coniston. Miss Susan Beever died in 1893, and one of his last letters was sent to her on her death-bed.] BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, LANCASHIRE, 7th May (Postmark 1885). DARLING LUCY: I'm just leaving for Herne Hill, and write to say your dear little letter is in my breast pocket, and that I do feel for you in the plantationsand for the Master in the fields of docks —and that it is a Christian duty to be cross, but I'm a Turk, and going to enjoy myself if I can-with Joanie-and-I'll write your message to Susie, but won't you send a little love to Margaret Burne Jones who's coming to see me, and, though she won't allow that, perhaps just a little to be seen by me tomorrow. You could telegraph me a little love for her in time. I wrote a long letter to the Irish schoolgirl May Queen yesterday on the duties and principles of Monarchy-represent ing to her how nice it would be for Irish girls to exemplify these. I've left 18 couples of pretty stones to be sent, a couple every other day, to Miss Susie while I'm away, counting on 36 days. I must be back to see the long twilights. Now I must read my other letters. I liked my account of Punchestown-when I got it so much. Ever your lovingest ST. C. LETTER IX [The reference is to a letter contributed to the Tablet by Mrs. La Touche on the subject of education. The book of fragments on education was never completed.] BRANTWOOD. CONISTON, LANCASHIRE, DARLING LUCY: I got home in pure sunlight on Saturday evening, and have the Tablet and your nice letter today. The letter is admirable, but may be much developed and made like yourself-there is a sense of supervenient editor in it which you will shake off in preparing it for me and I will print it in a book I am going to collect of fragments on Education. The Nondevelopment is new, and entirely well stated-but I think even an infant might be able to understand cruelty without actually seeing it. I do not accept the excuse of not thinking. I will take due note of the different temper of Irish serrel and explain more completely what I mean about the Swiss and English. It is'nt mere selfish love of lunch. I have a good many retouches to give the next Proserpina, but I think, between us it will come pretty. Ever your lovingest ST. C. the library edition the date of the last letter printed is August 7, 1889. When he wrote this letter (June 18) he was recovering from another severe illness and was attempting to go on with "Præterita," but it was impossible for him to complete it. All that he could do was the last chapter, "Joanna's Care," which was written in the summer of this year (Chapter IV). The previous chapter of "Præterita" (Chapter III), written in 1888, had been about Rosie. The "little glitter of Rosie" which he speaks of in this letter was a sentence in Chapter IV, "I leave Rosie's letter to tell what it can of the beginning of happiest days; but omit for a little while the further record of them," and one or two other loving references.] BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, LANCASHIRE, DEAREST LUCY: I never did see such a seal! Where did it come from-what's it cut on? did anybody ever guess what it means? Yes, I should love both those cats and I think I could paint them a little, if they'd show me their topaz eyes. I really can paint pretty well now, if only I had any body to squeeze me out the coloursit does take such a time, I'm always tired before I begin. How pretty it is of you to be still jealous of chits and minxes. I havn't the least chance of a chit, nor a mite of a minx, between the Old Man and Isle of Man, or between old Ireland and me, and I think the III Vol Præterita-if its ever done, will be pretty reading. Joanie comes in in this next one-and just a little glitter of Rosie- And Mr. Carlyle! Did you ever see Carlyle? I forget how much you ever read of him. He helps one so wisely and naturally to quarrel with one's neighbour. Ever your loving Sr. C. By Corinne Roosevelt Robinson WHY am I here? I, who belonged to that dread season drear When, wet and cold, November rains did change to formless mould My comrades-and did sweep Them all to their last sleep But I I was passed by. Even the storm that wild Autumnal night, I had been happier far with them to fly Against this branch to cling, And wait a new-born Spring! I have no place Where buds do bloom apace. One near me now, Burst into adolescence How, ah! how? Her fragrant scents With youth's impertinence Importune me to know why I still hold The branch, with tendrils cold. "Why," they would ask of me, "have you survived? Your brothers were short-lived And went their way, Why did you stay?" And I |