I write from Hawarden, but almost en route for London, and
     the arduous work before us.

     My mind is cheerful, and even sanguine about it.

     I wish I had some chance or hope of seeing you, and I remain
     affectionately yours, W.E.  GLADSTONE.

The Bishop of Salisbury has been for days at the point of death.  He is decidedly better, but cannot recover.  Let him have a place in your prayers.

     Windsor Castle, June 24, 1871.

My dear Dean Ramsay—­The attraction of the Scott Centenary to Edinburgh is strong, and your affectionate invitation makes it stronger still.  I do not despair of being free, and if free, I mean to use my freedom, so as to profit by both.  At the same time the delays and obstructions to business have been so formidable that I must not as yet presume to forecast the time when I may be able to escape from London, and therefore I fear I must draw upon your indulgence to allow me some delay.  The session may last far into August, but the stars may be more propitious.

We are all grumbling at an unusually cold year, and the progress of vegetation seems to be suspended, but I trust no serious harm is yet done; as Louis Napoleon said, tout peut se retablir.

     It would indeed be delightful could I negotiate for a right
     to bring you back with me on coming southwards.

     So glad to hear a good account of your health and appearance
     from our Lord Advocate; a clever chiel, is he not?—­Ever
     affectionately yours, W.E.  GLADSTONE.

     My wife sends her kind love.

     10 Downing Street, Whitehall, July 25, 1871.

My dear Friend—­From day to day my hopes of attending the Scott Centenary have been declining, and I regret much to say that they are now virtually dead.  The extraordinary obstructions which have been offered to public business during the present session have now, as you will see, brought us to such a pass that some suggest an adjournment from August to some period in the autumn, to enable us to get through what we have in hand.  Whether we do this, or whether we finish off at once, it is now, I fear, practically certain that there is no chance of my being free to leave town at the time of the Centenary.

We paid Tennyson a visit from last Saturday to Tuesday.  He is a sincere and ardent admirer of Scott, and heartily wishes well to anything which is likely to keep him before the minds of the on-coming generation.

     His Sussex abode is beautiful, 600 feet above the sea, with a
     splendid view.  He seems to be very happy in his family.