Related Letters
Will you allow one who is almost a stranger to you personally, to express my deep sympathy and sorrow when I saw the notice in the paper of the awful blow that has fallen on you? I know from Annie Moberly of your great kindness on my birthday last year, and that leads me to hope that you will not feel a few words from an old woman an intrusion; though pray do ... continue reading
My dear Ellie I am delighted to hear of the Medallion!
Have you seen Sir Herbert Maxwell’s book of the months-? He disbelieved the rod and someone ought to write to him. He watched Mullins - and fancied he had discovered the places before. But Lady Crawley, the mother of Mrs William Gibbs, who had the power only in that generation of the family laughed at it as imagination, and I believe Mrs Gibbs inherited it, but ... continue reading
J.F.O. slept here last night to assist at the opening of Mr. Randall's church at Clifton, to which we have been this morning. The Bishop of Salisbury, Dr. Moberly, preached most beautifully about the Shadow and the Image. Mr. Skinner is also here for it. . . Those who stayed for the luncheon are full of enthusiasm, and say it was most successful, and that the two Bishops spoke ... continue reading
My dear Mary
A great deal seems to have happened since I wrote to you last, but before I tell you about Oxford, I must come to what is uppermost in my mind, about Julian’s affairs. He fully expected a compromise to have been made which would not have brought such difficulty, but that has failed, and there is the whole debt of the company, about £12,000 come upon the 5 directors – of whom ... continue reading
My dear Lizzie
Thank you for your kind letter. This is the dear Mrs. Gibbs's burial day, and I have been prevented from keeping it properly by Mr. Brock suddenly knocking up this morning with neuralgia and sick headache. If it had only begun yesterday he would have got help on such a great Saint's day; but that is not to the purpose. We knew what was coming for nearly a month; ... continue reading