schools. A 'studio' is not necessary for him--but a little room
with a cupboard in it, and a chair--and nothing else--IS. I am very
sanguine respecting him, I like both his face and his work.

"Thank you for telling me that about my books. I am happy in seeing
much more of the springing of the green than most sowers of seed are
allowed to see, until very late in their lives--but it is always a
great help to me to hear of any, for I never write with pleasure to
myself, nor with purpose of getting praise to myself. I hate
writing, and know that what I do does not deserve high praise, as
literature; but I write to tell truths which I can't help crying out
about, and I DO enjoy being believed and being of use.

"Very faithfully yours,
(Signed) J. RUSKIN.
W. White, Esq."


My mother, whose maiden name was Chignell, came from Colchester.
What her father and mother were I never heard. I will say all I
have to say about Colchester, and then go back to my native town.
My maternal grandmother was a little, round, old lady, with a ruddy,
healthy tinge on her face. She lived in Queen Street in a house
dated 1619 over the doorway. There was a pleasant garden at the
back, and the scent of a privet hedge in it has never to this day
left me. In one of the rooms was a spinet. The strings were struck
with quills, and gave a thin, twangling, or rather twingling sound.
In that house I was taught by a stupid servant to be frightened at
gipsies. She threatened me with them after I was in bed. My
grandmother was a most pious woman. Every morning and night we had