The duchess with her nine
children, a perfectly beautiful little flock, sit together. The duke
reads the Bible and a prayer, and pronounces the benediction. After
that, breakfast is served,--a very hearty, informal, cheerful meal,--
and after that come walks, or drives, or fishing parties, till lunch
time, and then more drives, or anything else: everybody, in short,
doing what he likes till half past seven, which is the dinner hour.
After that we have coffee and tea in the evening.
The first morning, the duke took me to see his mine of nickel silver.
We had a long and beautiful drive, and talked about everything in
literature, religion, morals, and the temperance movement, about which
last he is in some state of doubt and uncertainty, not inclining, I
think, to have it pressed yet, though feeling there is need of doing
something.
If "Dred" has as good a sale in America as it is likely to have in
England, we shall do well. There is such a demand that they had to
placard the shop windows in Glasgow with,--
"To prevent disappointment,
'Dred'
Not to be had till," etc.
Everybody is after it, and the prospect is of an enormous sale.
God, to whom I prayed night and day while I was writing the book, has
heard me, and given us of worldly goods _more_ than I asked. I
feel, therefore, a desire to "walk softly," and inquire, for what has
He so trusted us?
Every day I am more charmed with the duke and duchess; they are
simple-hearted, frank, natural, full of feeling, of piety, and good
sense.
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