to be himself fifth or sixth cousin of another English lord.  But, having lived really as a fisherman ever since his daughter’s birth, he knew nothing of his aristocratic descent.  I think this is the most remarkable thing in the book.  There are certain flings at the New England character (the scene is laid beside the waters of your Bay) which seem to foretell a not very remote migration on the part of Mr. Jones, though they may come from his partner; nothing very bad, only such hits as this:  “He was simple, humble, affectionate, three qualities rare anywhere, but perhaps more rare in that part of the world than anywhere else.”  For the rest the book is far inferior to the best even of Mr. James’s recent productions, such as “Henry Smeaton.”  These two authors speak of the corpse of a drowned man as beautified by death, and retaining all the look of life.  You remember what Mr. Hawthorne says of the appearance of his drowned heroine,—­which is right?  I have had the most delightful letter possible (you shall see it when you come) from dear Dr. Holmes, and venture to trouble you with the enclosed answer.  Yesterday, Mr. Harness, who had heard a bad account of me (for I have been very ill, and, although much better now, I gather from everybody that I am thought to be breaking down fast), so like the dear kind old friend that he is, came to see me.  It was a great pleasure.  We talked much of you, and I think he will call upon you.  Whether he call or not, do go to see him.  He is fully prepared for you as Mr. Dyce’s friend and Mr. Rogers’s friend, and my very dear friend.  Do go; you will find him charming, so different from the author people that Mr. Kenyon collects.  I am sure of your liking each other.  Surely by next week I may be well enough to see you.  You and Mrs. W——­ would do me nothing but good.  Say everything to her, and to our dear kind friends, the Bennochs.  I ought to have written to them, but I get as much scolded for writing as talking.

    Ever yours, M.R.M.

    (No date.)

How good and kind you are to me, dearest Mr. Fields! kindest of all, I think, in writing me those....  One comfort is, that if London lose you this year I do think you will not suffer many to elapse before revisiting it.  Ah, you will hardly find your poor old friend next time!  Not that I expect to die just now, but there is such a want of strength, of the power that shakes off disease, which is no good sign for the constitution.  Yesterday I got up for a little while, for the first time since I saw you; but, having let in too many people, the fever came on again at night, and I am only just now shaking off the attack, and feel that I must submit to perfect quietness for the present.  Still the attack was less violent than the last, and unattended by sickness, so that I am really better and hope in a week or so to be able to get out with you under the trees, perhaps as far as Upton.

One of my yesterday’s visitors