292 A Century of Family Letters [CHAP, xx 



I am thinking of taking a leaf out of Lord Grey's book 

 and answering your letters categorically. It is funny how 

 he never omits answering a scold or a compliment. 



Ap., 1891. 



At last the garden is looking cheerful, but anemones 

 and polyanthus drooping in the sun after a frosty night, 

 and Bourne does not venture to water them. I really wish 

 he would not work so fast, and Chapman [under-gardener] 

 is like an overdriven post-horse. 



I want to give Gwen a tricycle and Maud prefers a bicycle. 

 I don't know how it will be settled. The little Vernon 

 Harcourt girls go on bicycles but I can't fancy grown-up 

 girls doing it. 



My mother's regret at one gardener working so fast, and 

 her pity for the other, reminds me that from sympathy with 

 the housemaids she was often unhappy at so much time 

 being spent in dusting the legs of the banisters and chairs. 



Ap. 19, 1891. 



I am reading Lowell's Essay on Wordsworth after Shairp 

 and he suits me much better. He is rather caustic and 

 amusing, and his writing is as neat as if it was French, also 

 he does not soar higher than I can reach. 



Emma Darwin to her son Leonard. 



CAMBRIDGE, Wednesday, May 6th [1891 ?]. 



The day was perfect with my beloved east wind, and it 

 was the first time that the tulips have really opened their 

 eyes. I am always divided at this time of the year between 

 the wish to stay on to enjoy the spring and early summer 

 here, and the opposite wish to be at Down before the trees 

 have become dark and summerlike. 



This summer saw my mother alone in her generation. 

 Her last remaining brother Hensleigh died on June 1st, 

 1891. 



