Letter from William Bell Scott to unknown correspondent, August 1869 William Bell Scott 1 Used with permission of Princeton University. From the Princeton University Library, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. All rights reserved. Redistribution or republication in any medium requires express written consent from Princeton University Library. Permissions inquiries should be addressed to Associate University Librarian, Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. Letter from William Bell Scott to unknown correspondent, August 1869 William Bell Scott 1869 August letter DGR Princeton University Library 23275 Commentary
Introduction

This is William Bell Scott's letter of August 1869 to an unknown correspondent. Its comment on DGR's condition at Penkill Castle, where the two were then staying together, is interesting. The letter contains Scott's fair copy of the first of DGR's pair of the “Church Porches” sonnets.

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The first part of the letter is missing.

I shall enjoy Rossetti's society very much, and already we are quite domesticated and each pursuing his avocations—a little idly no doubt, but comfortably. He reading me a sonnet now and then, I have just thought of transcribing one for you. It is on the other side and is one of two, entering & leaving church. The 2nd you will hear when you are here.

I forgot my scissors, will you bring them. On asking your mother if she has any message I find she has nothing particular. She considers our box a small parcel, but you will write me when you hear definitely. With kind remembrances to all I am

Yours W. B. Scott The Church Porches. I.<lb/>(To M.F.R.) Sister, first shake we off the dust we have Upon our feet, lest it defile the stones Inscriptured, covering their sacred bones Who lie i' the aisles which keep the names they gave, Their trust abiding round them in the grave:— Whom painters paint with silent orisons, And to whom sculptors pray in stone and bronze;— Their voices echo still, like a spent wave. Without here the church bells are but a tune, And on the gothic church-door, this hot noon Lays all its heavy sunshine, here without. But having entered in, we shall find there Silence and lighted tapers and deep prayer, And faces of crowned angels all about. --------------