Scotch Church. I tell you he makes me feel pretty small at times. The other night papa and I went along to his cottage after dinner, and found him reading Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire—lent him by his brother, it appeared. I borrowed the first volume—but, oh, squawks! it is a good deal too stiff work for the likes of me. And then there is never the least pretence or show, but all the other way; he will talk to you as long as you like about his deerstalking and about what he has seen his dogs do; but never a word about books or writing—unless you happen to have found out.

'Now I'm coming to business. I have never seen any writing of his until this morning, when, after long goading, he showed me a little poem which I will copy out and enclose in this letter when I have finished. Now, darling Em, I want you to do me a real kindness; the first time you see Jack Huysen—I don't want to ask the favour of him direct—will you ask him to print it in the Citizen, and to say something nice about it? I don't want any patronage: understand—I mean let Jack Huysen understand—that Ronald Strang is a particular friend of both my father and myself; and that I am sending you this without his authority, but merely to give him a little pleasant surprise, perhaps, when he sees it in print; and perhaps to tempt him to give us some more. I should like him to print a volume,—for he is really far above his present station, and it is absurd he should not take his place,—and if he did that I know of a young party who would buy 500 copies even if she were to go back home without a single Paris bonnet. Tell Jack Huysen there is to be no patronage, mind; there is to be nothing about the peasant poet, or anything like that; for this man is a gentleman, if I know anything about it; and I won't have him trotted out as a phenomenon—to be discussed by the dudes who smoke cigarettes in Lincoln Park. If you could only talk to him for ten minutes it would be better than fifty letters, but I suppose there are attractions nearer home just at present. My kind remembrances to T.T.

'I forgot to say that I am quite ignorant as to whether newspapers ever pay for poetry—I mean if a number of pieces were sent? Or could Jack Huysen find a publisher who would undertake a volume; my father will see he does not lose anything by it. I really want to do something for this Ronald, for he has been so kind and attentive to us; and before long it may become more difficult to do so; for of course a man of his abilities is not likely to remain as he is; indeed, he has already formed plans for getting away altogether from his present way of life, and whatever he tries to do I know he will do—and easily. But if I talk any more about him, you will be making very very mistaken guesses; and I won't give you the delight of imagining even for a moment that I have been caught at last; when the sad event arrives there will be time enough for you to take your cake-walk of triumph up and down the room—of course to Dancing in the Barn, as in the days of old.'

Here followed a long and rambling chronicle of her travels in Europe since her last letter, all of which may be omitted; the only point to be remarked was that her very brief experiences of Scotland took up a disproportionately large portion of the space, and that she was minute in her description of the incidents and excitement of salmon-fishing. Then followed an outline of her present plans; a string of questions; a request for an instant reply; and finally—

'With dearest love, old Em,

'Thine,

'Carry.'