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diff --git a/20539-h/20539-h.htm b/20539-h/20539-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9239dcf --- /dev/null +++ b/20539-h/20539-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11511 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Letters of Edward FitzGerald in Two Volumes</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Letters of Edward FitzGerald in Two Volumes, by Edward FitzGerald</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters of Edward FitzGerald in Two Volumes, +by Edward FitzGerald, Edited by William Aldis Wright + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Letters of Edward FitzGerald in Two Volumes + Vol. II + + +Author: Edward FitzGerald + +Editor: William Aldis Wright + +Release Date: February 6, 2007 [eBook #20539] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1901 Macmillan and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">IN TWO VOLUMES<br /> +VOL. II</p> +<p style="text-align: center">London<br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">new york</span>: <span class="smcap">the +macmillan company</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">1901</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page ii--><a +name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ii</span><i>First +Edition</i> 1894. <i>Reprinted</i> 1901</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt="The “Little Grange,” Woodbridge" +src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">88 <span class="smcap">Gt. Portland +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">London</span>,<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 13/59.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I have been here some five weeks: but before my Letter reaches +you shall probably have slid back into the Country +somewhere. This is my old Lodging, but new numbered. +I have been almost alone here: having seen even Spedding and +Donne but two or three times. They are well and go on as +before. Spedding has got out the seventh volume of Bacon, I +believe: with Capital Prefaces to Henry VII., etc. But I +have not yet seen it. After vol. viii. (I think) there is +to be a Pause: till Spedding has set the Letters to his +Mind. Then we shall see what he can make of his Blackamoor. +. . .</p> +<p>I am almost ashamed to write to you, so much <!-- page 2--><a +name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>have I forsaken +Persian, and even all good Books of late. There is no one +now to ‘prick the Sides of my Intent’; Vaulting +Ambition having long failed to do so! I took my Omar from +Fraser [? Parker], as I saw he didn’t care for it; and also +I want to enlarge it to near as much again, of such Matter as he +would not dare to put in Fraser. If I print it, I shall do +the impudence of quoting your Account of Omar, and your Apology +for his Freethinking: it is not wholly my Apology, but you +introduced him to me, and your excuse extends to that which you +have not ventured to quote, and I do. I like your Apology +extremely also, allowing its Point of View. I doubt you +will repent of ever having showed me the Book. I should +like well to have the Lithograph Copy of Omar which you tell of +in your Note. My Translation has its merit: but it misses a +main one in Omar, which I will leave you to find out. The +Latin Versions, if they were corrected into decent Latin, would +be very much better. . . . I have forgotten to write out +for you a little Quatrain which Binning found written in +Persepolis; the Persian Tourists having the same propensity as +English to write their Names and Sentiments on their national +Monuments. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2" +class="citation">[2]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In the early part of 1859 his friend William Browne was +terribly injured by his horse falling upon him and lingered in +great agony for several weeks.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 3--><a +name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span><i>To W. B. +Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Goldington</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bedford</span>.<br /> +<i>March</i> 26 [1859].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>Your folks told you on what Errand I left your house so +abruptly. I was not allowed to see W. B. the day I came: +nor yesterday till 3 p.m.; when, poor fellow, he tried to write a +line to me, like a child’s! and I went, and saw, no longer +the gay Lad, nor the healthy Man, I had known: but a wreck of all +that: a Face like Charles I. (after decapitation almost) above +the Clothes: and the poor shattered Body underneath lying as it +had lain eight weeks; such a case as the Doctor says he had never +known. Instead of the light utterance of other days too, +came the slow painful syllables in a far lower Key: and when the +old familiar words, ‘Old +Fellow—Fitz’—etc., came forth, so spoken, I +broke down too in spite of foregone Resolution.</p> +<p>They thought he’d die last Night: but this Morning he is +a little better: but no hope. He has spoken of me in the +Night, and (if he wishes) I shall go again, provided his Wife and +Doctor approve. But it agitates him: and Tears he could not +wipe away came to his Eyes. The poor Wife bears up +wonderfully.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 4--><a +name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span><i>To E. B. +Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Beccles</span>.<br /> +<i>April</i> 27 [1859]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Above is the Address you had better direct to in future. +I have had a great Loss. W. Browne was fallen upon and half +crushed by his horse near three months ago: and though the +Doctors kept giving hopes while he lay patiently for two months +in a condition no one else could have borne for a Fortnight, at +last they could do no more, nor Nature neither: and he +sunk. I went to see him before he died—the comely +spirited Boy I had known first seven and twenty years ago lying +all shattered and Death in his Face and Voice. . . .</p> +<p>Well, this is so: and there is no more to be said about +it. It is one of the things that reconcile me to my own +stupid Decline of Life—to the crazy state of the +world—Well—no more about it.</p> +<p>I sent you poor old Omar who has <i>his</i> kind of +Consolation for all these Things. I doubt you will regret +you ever introduced him to me. And yet you would have me +print the original, with many worse things than I have +translated. The Bird Epic might be finished at once: but +‘cui bono?’ No one cares for such things: and +there are doubtless so many better things to care about. I +hardly know why I print any of these things, which nobody buys; +and I scarce now see the few <!-- page 5--><a +name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>I give them +to. But when one has done one’s best, and is sure +that that best is better than so many will take pains to do, +though far from the best that <i>might be done</i>, one likes to +make an end of the matter by Print. I suppose very few +People have ever taken such Pains in Translation as I have: +though certainly not to be literal. But at all Cost, a +Thing must <i>live</i>: with a transfusion of one’s own +worse Life if one can’t retain the Original’s +better. Better a live Sparrow than a stuffed Eagle. I +shall be very well pleased to see the new MS. of Omar. I +shall <i>one day</i> (if I live) print the ‘Birds,’ +and a strange experiment on old Calderon’s two great Plays; +and then shut up Shop in the Poetic Line. Adieu: Give my +love to the Lady: and believe me yours very truly E. F. G.</p> +<p>You see where those Persepolitan Verses <a +name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a> come from. I wonder you were not +startled with the metre, though maimed a bit.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Beccles</span>.<br /> +<i>June</i> 20/59.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>Very soon after I called and saw Mrs. Carlyle I got a violent +cold, which (being neglected) flew to my Ears, and settled into +such a Deafness I <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 6</span>couldn’t hear the Postman knock +nor the Omnibus roll. When I began (after more than a +Month) to begin recovering of this (though still so deaf as to +determine not to be a Bore to any one else) I heard from Bedford +that my poor W. Browne (who got you a Horse some fifteen years +ago) had been fallen on and crushed all through the middle Body +by one of his own: and I then kept expecting every +Postman’s knock was to announce his Death. He kept on +however in a shattered Condition which the Doctors told me scarce +any one else would have borne a Week; kept on for near two +Months, and then gave up his honest Ghost. I went to bid +him Farewell: and then came here (an Address you remember), only +going to Lowestoft (on the Sea) to entertain my old George +Crabbe’s two Daughters, who, now living inland, are glad of +a sight of the old German Sea, and also perhaps of poor Me. +I return to Lowestoft (for a few days only) to-morrow, and shall +perhaps see the Steam of your Ship passing the Shore. I +have always been wanting to sail to Scotland: but my old +Fellow-traveller is gone! His Accident was the more +vexatious as quite unnecessary—so to say—returning +quietly from Hunting. But there’s no use talking of +it. Your Destinies and Silences have settled it.</p> +<p>I really had wished to go and see Mrs. Carlyle again: I +won’t say you, because I don’t think in your heart +you care to be disturbed; and I am <!-- page 7--><a +name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>glad to believe +that, with all your Pains, you are better than any of us, I do +think. You don’t care what one thinks of your Books: +you know I love so many: I don’t care so much for Frederick +so far as he’s gone: I suppose you don’t +neither. I was thinking of you the other Day reading in +Aubrey’s Wiltshire how he heard Cromwell one Day at Dinner +(I think) at Hampton Court say that Devonshire showed the best +Farming of any Part of England he had been in. Did you know +all the Dawson Turner Letters?</p> +<p>I see Spedding directs your Letter: which is nearly all I see +of his MS.: though he would let me see enough of it if there were +a good Turn to be done.</p> +<p>Please to give my best Remembrances to Mrs. Carlyle, and +believe me yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Charles Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>October</i> 16/59.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Allen</span>,</p> +<p>In passing through London a week ago I found a very kind +letter from you directed to my London Lodging. This will +explain why it has not been sooner answered. As I do not +know <i>your</i> Address, I take the Opportunity of enclosing my +Reply to John Allen, of whom I have not heard since May.</p> +<p><!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>I have been in these Suffolk and Norfolk Parts ever since +I left London in March to see my poor Lad die in Bedford. +The Lad I first met in the Tenby Lodging house twenty-seven years +ago—not sixteen then—and now broken to pieces and +scarce conscious, after two months such suffering as the Doctor +told me scarce any one would have borne for a Fortnight. +They never told him it was all over with him until [within] ten +Days of Death: though every one else seem’d to <i>know</i> +it must be so—and he did not wish to die yet.</p> +<p>I won’t write more of a Matter that you can have but +little Interest in, and that I am as well not thinking +about. I came here partly to see his Widow, and so (as I +hope) to avoid having to go to Bedford for the Present. +She, though a wretchedly sickly woman, and within two months of +her confinement when he died, has somehow weathered it all beyond +Expectation. She has her children to attend to, and be her +comfort in turn: and though having lost what most she loved yet +has something to love still, and to be beloved by. There +are worse Conditions than that.</p> +<p>I am not going to be long here: but hope to winter somewhere +in Suffolk (London very distasteful now)—But here +again:—my good Hostess with whom I have lodged in Suffolk +is dead too: and I must wait till <i>that</i> Household settles +down a little.</p> +<p>If it ever gives you pleasure to write to me, <!-- page 9--><a +name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>it gives me +real Pleasure to hear of you: and I am sincerely grateful for +your kind Remembrance of me.</p> +<p>‘Geldestone Hall—Beccles’ or +‘Farlingay Hall, Woodbridge,’ are pretty sure +Addresses. Please to remember me kindly to your Husband and +believe me</p> +<p>Yours very sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Edw</span><sup><span +class="smcap">d</span></sup><span class="smcap"> +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bath +House</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>October</i> 26 [1859].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I must thank you for your so kind Letter, and kind +Invitation. But if I was but five Days with my old College +Friend after twelve years’ Promise, and then didn’t +go just on to Teignmouth to see my Sister, and her Family, I must +not talk of going elsewhere—even to Prees—where John +is always good enough to be asking me: even in a Letter To day +received.</p> +<p>By the way, Last Saturday at Norwich while I was gazing into a +Shop, a Woman’s Voice said, ‘How d’ ye do, Mr. +FitzGerald?’ I looked up: a young Woman too, whom (of +course) I didn’t know. ‘You don’t +remember me, Andalusia Allen that was!’ Now Mrs. +Day. I had not seen her since ’52, a Girl of, I +suppose, twelve, playing <!-- page 10--><a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>some +Character in a Family Play. John’s Letter too tells +me of his son going to College.</p> +<p>But Tenby—I don’t remember a pleasanter +Place. I can now hear the Band on the Steamer as it left +the little Pier for Bristol, the Steamer that brought me and the +poor Boy now in his Grave to that Boardinghouse. It was +such weather as now howls about this Lodging when one of those +poor starved Players was drowned on the Sands, and was carried +past our Windows after Dinner: I often remember the dull Trot of +Men up the windy Street, and our running to the Window, and the +dead Head, hair, and Shoulders hurried past. That was +Tragedy, poor Fellow, whatever Parts he had played before.</p> +<p>I think you remember me with Kindness because accidentally +associated with your old Freestone in those pleasant Days, that +also were among the last of your Sister’s Life. Her +too I can see, with her China-rose complexion: in the Lilac Gown +she wore.</p> +<p>I keep on here from Week to week, partly because no other +Place offers: but I almost doubt if I shall be here beyond next +week. Not in this Lodging anyhow: which is wretchedly +‘rafty’ and cold; lets the Rain in when it Rains: and +the Dust of the Shore when it drives: as both have been doing by +turns all Yesterday and To day. I was cursing all this as I +was shivering here by myself last Night: and in the Morning I +hear of <!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 11</span>three Wrecks off the Sands, and +indeed meet five shipwreckt Men with a Troop of Sailors as I walk +out before Breakfast. Oh Dear!</p> +<p>Please remember me to your ‘Gude Man’ and believe +me yours truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p>Pray do excuse all this Blotting: my Paper <i>won’t</i> +dry To day.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">10 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>Nov.</i> 27, 1859.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>After a Fortnight’s Visit to my Sister’s (where I +caught Cold which flew at once to my Ears, and there hangs) I +returned hither, as the nearest Place to go to, and here shall be +till Christmas at all Events. I wish to avoid London this +winter: and indeed seem almost to have done with it, except for a +Day’s Business or Sightseeing every now and then. +Often should I like to roam about old Cambridge, and hear St. +Mary’s Chimes at Midnight—but—but! This +Place of course is dull enough: but here’s the Old Sea (a +dirty Dutch one, to be sure) and Sands, and Sailors, a very fine +Race of Men, far superior to those in Regent Street. Also +the Dutchmen (an ugly set whom I can’t help liking for old +Neighbours) come over in their broad Bottoms and take in Water at +a <!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>Creek along the Shore. But I believe the East +winds get very fierce after Christmas, when the Sea has cooled +down. You won’t come here, to be sure: or I should be +very glad to smoke a Cigar, and have a Chat: and would take care +to have a Fire in your Bedroom this time: a Negligence I was very +sorry for in London.</p> +<p>I read, or was told, they wouldn’t let old +Alfred’s Bust into your Trinity. They are right, I +think, to let no one in there (as it should be in Westminster +Abbey) till a Hundred Years are past; when, after too much +Admiration (perhaps) and then a Reaction of undue Dis-esteem, Men +have settled into some steady Opinion on the subject: supposing +always that the Hero survives so long, which of itself goes so +far to decide the Question. No doubt A. T. will do +<i>that</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">10 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>Febr.</i> 23/60.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>‘Me voilà ici’ still! having weathered it +out so long. No bad Place, I assure you, though you who are +accustomed to Pall Mall, Clubs, etc., wouldn’t like +it. Mudie finds one out easily: and the London Library too: +and altogether I can’t complain of not getting such drowsy +Books as I want. Hakluyt lasted a long while: then came +Captain Cook, whom <!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 13</span>I hadn’t read since I was a +Boy, and whom I was very glad to see again. But he soon +evaporates in his large Type Quartos. I can hardly manage +Emerson Tennent’s Ceylon: a very dry Catalogue +Raisonnée of the Place. A little Essay of De +Quincey’s gave me a better Idea of it (as I suppose) in +some twenty or thirty pages. Anyhow, I prefer Lowestoft, +considering the Snakes, Sand-leaches, Mosquitos, etc. I +suppose Russell’s Indian Diary is over-coloured: but I feel +sure it’s true in the Main: and he has the Art to make one +feel in the thick of it; quite enough in the Thick, +however. Sir C. Napier came here to try and get the +Beachmen to enlist in the Naval Reserve. Not one would go: +they won’t give up their Independence: and so really half +starve here during Winter. Then Spring comes and they go +and catch the Herrings which, if left alone, would multiply by +Millions by Autumn: and so kill their Golden Goose. They +are a strange set of Fellows. I think a Law ought to be +made against their Spring Fishing: more important, for their own +sakes, than Game Laws.</p> +<p>I laid out half a crown on your Fraser <a +name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13" +class="citation">[13]</a>: and liked much of it very much: +especially the Beginning about the Advantage the Novelist has +over the Play-writer. A little too much always about Miss +Austen, whom yet I think quite capital in a Circle I have found +quite unendurable to walk in. Thackeray’s first +Number was famous, I thought: his own little Roundabout <!-- page +14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>Paper +so pleasant: but the Second Number, I say, lets the Cockney in +already: about Hogarth: Lewes is vulgar: and I don’t think +one can care much for Thackeray’s Novel. He is always +talking so of himself, too. I have been very glad to find I +could take to a Novel again, in Trollope’s Barchester +Towers, etc.: not perfect, like Miss Austen: but then so much +wider Scope: and perfect enough to make me feel I know the People +though caricatured or carelessly drawn. I doubt if you can +read my writing here: or whether it will be worth your Pains to +do so. If you can, or can not, one Day write me a Line, +which I will read. I suppose when the Fields and Hedges +begin to grow green I shall move a little further inland to be +among them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Charles Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Farlingay</span>: <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>June</i> 2/60.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Allen</span>,</p> +<p>Your kind Note has reacht me here after a Fortnight’s +abode at my old Lodgings in London. In London I have not +been for more than a year, unless passing through it in +September, and have no thought of going up at present. I +don’t think you were there last Spring, were you? Or +perhaps I was gone before you arrived, as I generally used to get +off as soon as it began to fill, and the Country to become <!-- +page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>amiable. Here at last we have the +‘May’ coming out: there it is on some Thorns before +my Windows, and the Tower of Woodbridge Church beyond: and beyond +that some low Hills that stretch with Furze and Broom to the +Seaside, about ten miles off.</p> +<p>I am of course glad of so good a Report of John Allen. I +have long been thinking of writing to him: among other things to +give his Wife a Drawing Laurence made of him for me some four and +twenty years ago: in full Canonicals—very serious—I +think a capital Likeness on the whole, and one that I take +pleasure to look at. But I think his Wife and Children have +more title to it: and one never can tell what will become of +one’s Things when one’s dead. This same Drawing +is now in London (I hope: for, if not, it’s lost) and you +should see it if you had a mind. For you don’t seem +to find your way to Frees any more than I do: I should go if +there weren’t a large Family. Mrs. John is always +very kind to me. I do think it is very kind of you too to +remember and write to me: at any rate I do answer Letters, which +many better Men don’t.</p> +<p>Please to remember me to your Husband: and believe me +unforgetful of the Good old Days, and of you, and yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 16--><a +name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span><span +class="smcap">Farlingay</span>: <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Septr.</i> 9/60.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Allen</span>,</p> +<p>It is very kind of you to write to me. Ah! how I can +fancy the Stillness, and the Colour, of your pretty +Tenby!—now eight and twenty years since seen! But I +can’t summon Resolution to go to it: and daily get worse +and worse at moving any where, a common Fate as we grow +older.</p> +<p>Your Note came in an Enclosure from your Cousin John, who +seems to flourish with Wife and Children. It is Children +who keep alive one’s Interest in Life: that is to say, if +one happens to like one’s Children.</p> +<p>I have had to stay with me the two sons of my poor Friend +killed last year: he whom I first made Acquaintance with at your +very Tenby. As I haven’t found Courage to go to their +Country, their Mother would have them come here, and I took them +to <i>our</i> Seaside; not a beautiful Coast like yours—no +Rocks, no Sands, and few Trees—but yet liked because +remembered by me as long as I can remember. Anyhow, there +are Ships, Boats, and Sailors: and the Boys were well pleased +with all that. The place we went to is <i>called +Aldborough</i>: <i>spelt</i> Aldeburgh: and is the Birth place of +the Poet Crabbe, who also has <i>Daguerrotyped</i> much of the +Character of the Place in his Poems. You send me some Lines +about the Sea: what if I return you four of his?</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>Still as I gaze upon the Sea I +find<br /> +Its waves an Image of my restless mind:<br /> +<i>Here</i> Thought on Thought: <i>there</i> Wave on Wave +succeeds,<br /> +Their Produce—idle Thought and idle Weeds!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Adieu: please to remember me to your Husband: and believe me +yours ever very sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To George Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +Hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Decr.</i> 28/60.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I forgot to tell you I really ran to London three weeks +ago: by the morning Express, and was too glad to rush back by the +Evening Ditto. I went up for a Business I of course did not +accomplish: did not call on, or see, a Friend: couldn’t get +into the National Gallery: and didn’t care a straw for +Holman Hunt’s Picture. No doubt, there is Thought and +Care in it: but what an outcome of several Years and sold for +several Thousands! What Man with the Elements of a Great +Painter could come out with such a costive Thing after so long +waiting! Think of the Acres of Canvas Titian or Reynolds +would have covered with grand Outlines and deep Colours in the +Time it has taken to niggle this Miniature! The Christ +seemed to me only a wayward Boy: the Jews, Jews no doubt: the +Temple I dare say very correct in its Detail: but think of <!-- +page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>even Rembrandt’s Woman in Adultery at the National +Gallery; a much smaller Picture, but how much vaster in Space and +Feeling! Hunt’s Picture stifled me with its +Littleness. I think Ruskin must see what his System has led +to.</p> +<p>I have just got Lady Waterford’s ‘Babes in the +Wood,’ which are well enough, pretty in Colour: only, why +has she made so bad a Portrait of one of her chief Performers, +whose Likeness is so easily got at, the Robin Redbreast? +This Lady Waterford was at Gillingham this Summer: and my Sister +Eleanor said (as Thackeray had done) she was something almost to +worship for unaffected Dignity.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Market-Hill</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Whit-Monday</i> [<i>May</i> 20, 1861].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I take pleasure in my new little Boat: and last week +went with her to Aldbro’; and she +‘<i>behaved</i>’ very well both going and returning; +though, to be sure, there was not much to try her Temper. I +am so glad of this fine Whit-Monday, when so many Holiday-makers +will enjoy <i>their</i>selves, and so many others make a little +money by their Enjoyment. Our ‘Rifles’ are +going to march to Grundisburgh, <i>manuring</i> and +<i>skrimmaging</i> as they go, and also (as the Captain <a +name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18" +class="citation">[18]</a> hopes) recruiting. He is a right +good little Fellow, I do believe. It is a shame the Gentry +<!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>hereabout are so indifferent in the Matter: they +subscribe next to nothing: and give absolutely nothing in the way +of Entertainment or Attention to the Corps. But we are +split up into the pettiest possible Squirarchy, who want to make +the utmost of their little territory: cut down all the Trees, +level all the old Violet Banks, and stop up all the Footways they +can. The old pleasant way from Hasketon to Bredfield is now +a Desert. I was walking it yesterday and had the pleasure +of breaking down and through some Bushes and Hurdles put to block +up a fallen Stile. I thought what your Father would have +said of it all. And really it is the sad ugliness of our +once pleasant Fields that half drives me to the Water where the +Power of the Squirarchy stops!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +Hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>:<br /> +<i>May</i> 22/61.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I receive two Books, viâ Geldestone, from you: +Khold-i-barin (including a Lecture of your own) and +‘Promises of Christianity’: I think directed in your +Wife’s hand. The Lecture was, I doubt not, very well +adapted to its purpose: the other two Publications I must look at +by and bye. I can’t tell you how indolent I have +become about Books: some Travels and Biographies from Mudie are +nearly all I read now. Then, I have only been in London +<!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>some dozen hours these two years past: my last +Expedition was this winter for five hours: when I ran home here +like a beaten Dog. So I have little to tell you of Friends +as of Books. Spedding hammers away at his Bacon (impudently +forestalled by H. Dixon’s Book). Carlyle is not so up +to work as of old (I hear). Indeed, he wrote me he was ill +last Summer, and obliged to cut Frederick and be off to Scotland +and Idleness: the Doctors warned him of Congestion of Brain: a +warning he scorned. But what more likely? The last +account I had of Alfred Tennyson from Mrs. A. was a good +one. Frederic T. is settled at Jersey. I cannot make +up my mind to go to see any of these good, noble men: I only hope +they believe I do not forget, or cease to regard them.</p> +<p>My chief Amusement in Life is Boating, on River and Sea. +The Country about here is the Cemetery of so many of my oldest +Friends: and the petty race of Squires who have succeeded only +use the Earth for an <i>Investment</i>: cut down every old Tree: +level every Violet Bank: and make the old Country of my Youth +hideous to me in my Decline. There are fewer Birds to be +heard, as fewer Trees for them to resort to. So I get to +the Water: where Friends are not buried nor Pathways stopt up: +but all is, as the Poets say, as Creation’s Dawn +beheld. I am happiest going in my little Boat round the +Coast to Aldbro’, with some Bottled Porter and some Bread +and Cheese, and some good rough Soul who works <!-- page 21--><a +name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>the Boat and +chews his Tobacco in peace. An Aldbro’ Sailor talking +of my Boat said—‘She go like a Wiolin, she +do!’ What a pretty Conceit, is it not? As the +Bow slides over the Strings in a liquid Tune. Another man +was talking yesterday of a great Storm: ‘and, in a moment, +all as calm as a Clock.’</p> +<p>By the bye, Forby reasons that our Suffolk third person +singular ‘It go, etc.,’ is probably right as being +the old Icelandic form. Why should the 3rd p. sing. be the +only one that varies. And in the auxiliaries <i>May</i>, +<i>Shall</i>, <i>Can</i>, etc., there <i>is</i> no change for the +3rd pers. I incline to the Suffolk because of its avoiding +a hiss.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To George Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Market-Hill</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>June</i> 4/61.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>Let me know when you come into these Parts, and be sure I +shall be glad to entertain you as well as I can if you come while +I am here. Nor am I likely to be away further than +Aldbro’, so far as I see. I do meditate crossing one +fine Day to Holland: to see the Hague, Paul Potter, and some +Rembrandt at Rotterdam. This, however, is not to be done in +my little Boat: but in some Trader from Ipswich. I also +talk of a cruise to Edinburgh in one of their Schooners. +But both these Excursions I reserve for such hot weather as may +make a retreat from the Town agreeable. I make no advances +to Farlingay, <!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 22</span>because (as yet) we have not had any +such Heat as to bake the Houses here: and, beside, I am glad to +be by the River. It is strange how sad the Country has +become to me. I went inland to see Acton’s +Curiosities before the Auction: and was quite glad to get back to +the little Town again. I am quite clear I must live the +remainder of my Life in a Town: but a little one, and with a +strip of Garden to saunter in. . . .</p> +<p>I go sometimes to see the Rifles drill, and shoot at their +Target, and have got John <a name="citation22"></a><a +href="#footnote22" class="citation">[22]</a> to ask them up to +Boulge to practise some day: I must insinuate that he should +offer them some Beer when they get there. It is a shame the +Squires do nothing in the matter: take no Interest: offer no +Encouragement, beyond a Pound or two in Money. And who are +those who have most interest at stake in case of Rifles being +really wanted? But I am quite assured that this Country is +dying, as other Countries die, as Trees die, atop first. +The lower Limbs are making all haste to follow. . . .</p> +<p>By the bye, don’t let me forget to ask you to bring with +you my Persian Dictionary in case you come into these +Parts. I read very very little: and get very desultory: but +when Winter comes again must take to some dull Study to keep from +Suicide, I suppose. The River, the Sea, etc., serve to +divert one now.</p> +<p>Adieu. These long Letters prove one’s +Idleness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 23--><a +name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span><i>To R. C. +Trench</i>. <a name="citation23a"></a><a href="#footnote23a" +class="citation">[23a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Market-Hill</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>July</i> 3/61.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Doctor Trench</span>,</p> +<p>Thank you sincerely for the delightful little Journal <a +name="citation23b"></a><a href="#footnote23b" +class="citation">[23b]</a> which I had from you yesterday, and +only wished to be a dozen times as long. The beautiful note +at p. 73 speaks of much yet unprinted! It is a pity Mrs. +Kemble had not read p. 79. I thought in the Night of +‘the subdued Voice of Good Sense’ and ‘The Eye +that invites you to look into it.’ I doubt I can +read, more or less attentively, most personal Memoirs: but I am +equally sure of the superiority of this, in its Shrewdness, +Humour, natural Taste, and Good Breeding. One is sorry for +the account of Lord Nelson: but one cannot doubt it. It was +at the time when he was intoxicated, I suppose, with Glory and +Lady Hamilton. What your Mother says of the Dresden Madonna +reminds me of what Tennyson once said: that the Attitude of The +Child was that of a Man: but perhaps not the less right for all +that. As to the Countenance, he said that scarce any +Man’s Face could look so grave and rapt as a Baby’s +could at times. He once said of his own Child’s, +‘He was a whole hour this morning worshipping the Sunshine +<!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>playing on the Bedpost.’ He never writes +Letters or Journals: but I hope People will be found to remember +some of the things he has said as naturally as your Mother wrote +them. <a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24" +class="citation">[24]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Market-Hill</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>July</i> 15/61.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>I was very glad to hear of you again. You need never +take it to Conscience, not answering my Letters, further than +that I really do want to hear you are well, and where you are, +and what doing, from time to time. I have absolutely +nothing to tell about myself, not having moved from this place +since I last wrote, unless to our Sea coast at Aldbro’, +whither I run, or sail, from time to time to idle with the +Sailors in their Boats or on their Beach. I love their +childish ways: but they too degenerate. As to reading, my +Studies have lain chiefly in some back Volumes of the New Monthly +Magazine and some French Memoirs. Trench was good enough to +send me a little unpublished Journal by his Mother: a <!-- page +25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>very +pretty thing indeed. I suppose he did this in return for +one or two Papers on Oriental Literature which Cowell had sent me +from India, and which I thought might interest Trench. I am +very glad to hear old Spedding is really getting <i>his</i> Share +of Bacon into Print: I doubt if it will be half as good as the +‘<i>Evenings</i>,’ where Spedding was in the +<i>Passion</i> which is wanted to fill his Sail for any longer +Voyage.</p> +<p>I have not seen his Paper on English Hexameters <a +name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25" +class="citation">[25]</a> which you tell me of: but I will now +contrive to do so. I, however, believe in them: and I think +the ever-recurring attempts that way show there is some ground +for such belief. To be sure, the Philosopher’s Stone, +and the Quadrature of the Circle, have had at least as many +Followers. . . .</p> +<p>It was finding some Bits of Letters and Poems of old +Alfred’s that made me wish to restore those I gave you to +the number, as marking a by-gone time to me. That they will +not so much do to you, who did not happen to save them from the +Fire when the Volumes of 1842 were printing. But I would +waive that if you found it good or possible to lay them up in +Trinity Library in the Closet with Milton’s! +Otherwise, I would still look at them now and then for the few +years I suppose I have to live. . . .</p> +<p>This is a terribly long Letter: but, if it be legible +sufficiently, will perhaps do as if I were spinning it in talk +under the walls of the Cathedral. I dare not <!-- page +26--><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>now +even talk of going any visits: I can truly say I wish you could +drop in here some Summer Day and take a Float with me on our dull +River, which does lead to <span class="smcap">The Sea</span> some +ten miles off. . .</p> +<p>You must think I have become very nautical, by all this: haul +away at ropes, swear, dance Hornpipes, etc. But it is not +so: I simply sit in Boat or Vessel as in a moving Chair, +dispensing a little Grog and Shag to those who do the work.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>December</i> 7/61.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I shall look directly for the passages in Omar and Hafiz +which you refer to and clear up, though I scarce ever see the +Persian Character now. I suppose you would think it a +dangerous thing to edit Omar: else, who so proper? Nay, are +you not the only Man to do it? And he certainly is worth +good re-editing. I thought him from the first the most +remarkable of the Persian Poets: and you keep finding out in him +Evidences of logical Fancy which I had not dreamed of. I +dare say these logical Riddles are not his best: but they are yet +evidences of a Strength of mind which our Persian Friends rarely +exhibit, I think. I always said about Cowley, Donne, etc., +whom Johnson calls the metaphysical Poets, that their very +Quibbles of Fancy showed a <!-- page 27--><a +name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>power of +Logic which could follow Fancy through such remote +Analogies. This is the case with Calderon’s Conceits +also. I doubt I have given but a very one-sided version of +Omar: but what I do only comes up as a Bubble to the Surface, and +breaks: whereas you, with exact Scholarship, might make a lasting +impression of such an Author. So I say of +Jeláluddín, whom you need not edit in Persian, +perhaps, unless in selections, which would be very good work: but +you should certainly translate for us some such selections +exactly in the way in which you did that apologue of Azräel. +<a name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27" +class="citation">[27]</a> I don’t know the value of +the Indian Philosophy, etc., which you tell me is a fitter +exercise for the Reason: but I am sure that you should give us +some of the Persian I now speak of, which you can do all so +easily to yourself; yes, as a holiday recreation, you say, to +your Indian Studies. As to India being ‘your +Place,’ it may be: but as to your being lost in England, +that could not be. You know I do not flatter. . . .</p> +<p>I declare I should like to go to India as well as any where: +and I believe it might be the best thing for me to do. But, +always slow at getting under way as I have been all my Life, what +is to be done with one after fifty! I am sure there is no +longer any great pleasure living in this Country, so tost with +perpetual Alarms as it is. One Day we are all <!-- page +28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>in +Arms about France. To-day we are doubting if To-morrow we +may not be at War to the Knife with America! I say still, +as I used, we have too much Property, Honour, etc., on our Hands: +our outward Limbs go on lengthening while our central Heart beats +weaklier: I say, as I used, we should give up something before it +is forced from us. The World, I think, may justly resent +our being and interfering all over the Globe. Once more I +say, would we were a little, peaceful, unambitious, trading, +Nation, like—the Dutch! . . .</p> +<p>Adieu, My Dear Cowell; once more, Adieu. I doubt if you +can read what I have written. Do not forget my Love to your +Wife. I wonder if we are ever to meet again: you would be +most disappointed if we were!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Dec.</i> 9/61.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>The MS. came safe to hand yesterday, thank you: and came out +of its Envelope like a Ray of Old Times to my Eyes. I wish +I had secured more leaves from that old ‘<i>Butcher’s +Book</i>’ torn up in old Spedding’s Rooms in 1842 +when the Press went to work with, I think, the Last of old +Alfred’s Best. But that, I am told, is only a +‘Crotchet.’ However, had I taken some more of +the Pages that went into <!-- page 29--><a +name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>the Fire, +after serving in part for Pipe-lights, I might have enriched +others with that which AT <a name="citation29"></a><a +href="#footnote29" class="citation">[29]</a> himself would scarce +have grudged, jealous as he is of such sort of Curiosity.</p> +<p>I have seen no more of Tannhäuser than the Athenæum +showed me; and certainly do not want to see more. One +wonders that Men of some Genius (as I suppose these are) should +so disguise it in Imitation: but, if they be very young men, this +is the natural course, is it not? By and by they may find +their own Footing.</p> +<p>As to my own Peccadilloes in Verse, which never pretend to be +original, this is the story of +<i>Rubáiyát</i>. I had translated them partly +for Cowell: young Parker asked me some years ago for something +for Fraser, and I gave him the less wicked of these to use if he +chose. He kept them for two years without using: and as I +saw he did’nt want them I printed some copies with +Quaritch; and, keeping some for myself, gave him the rest. +Cowell, to whom I sent a Copy, was naturally alarmed at it; he +being a very religious Man: nor have I given any other Copy but +to George Borrow, to whom I had once lent the Persian, and to old +Donne when he was down here the other Day, to whom I was showing +a Passage in another Book which brought my old Omar up.</p> +<p>(end of letter lost.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 30--><a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span><span +class="smcap">Market Hill</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>March</i> 19/62.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>Thanks for your Letter in the middle of graver +occupations. It will give me very great pleasure if you +will come here: but not if you only do so out of kindness; I +mean, if you have no other call of Business or Pleasure to +yourself. For I don’t deserve—</p> +<p>You should have sent me some Photograph. I hate them +nearly all: but S. Rice <a name="citation30"></a><a +href="#footnote30" class="citation">[30]</a> was very good. +I wonder you don’t turn out well: I suppose, too black, is +it? It is generally florid people, I think, who fail: yet, +strange to say, my Brother Peter has come quite handsome in the +Process. . . .</p> +<p>I am all for a little Flattery in Portraits: that is, so far +as, I think, the Painter or Sculptor should try at something more +agreeable than anything he sees sitting to him: when People look +either bored, or smirking: he should give the best possible +Aspect which the Features before him <i>might</i> wear, even if +the Artist had not seen that Aspect. Especially when he +works for Friends or Kinsfolk: for even the plainest face has +looked handsome to them at some happy moment, and just such we +like to have perpetuated.</p> +<p>Now, I really do feel ashamed when you ask about my Persian +Translations, though they are <!-- page 31--><a +name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>all very +well: only very little affairs. I really have not the face +to send to Milnes direct: but I send you four Copies which I have +found in a Drawer here to do as you will with. This will +save Milnes, or any one else, the bore of writing to me to +acknowledge it.</p> +<p>My old Boat has been altered, I hope not spoiled; and I shall +soon be preparing for the Water—and Mud. I +don’t think one can reckon on warm weather till after the +Longest Day: but if you should come before, it will surely be +warm enough to walk, or drive, if not to sail; and Leaves will be +green, if the Tide should be out.</p> +<p>You would almost think I wanted to repay you in Compliment if +I told you I regarded even your hasty Letters as excellent in all +respects. I do, however: but I do not wish you to write one +when you are busy or disinclined.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Sept.</i> 29/62.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>‘What Cheer, ho!’ I somehow fancy that a +Line of Nonsense will catch you before you leave Ely: and yet, +now I come to think, you will have left Ely, probably, and will +be returning in another Fortnight to Cambridge for the +Term. Well, I will direct to Cambridge then; and my Note +shall await you there, and you need not answer it till <!-- page +32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>some +very happy hour of Leisure and Inclination. As to +Inclination, indeed, I don’t think you will ever have much +of that, toward writing such Letters, I mean; what sensible Man +after forty has? You have done so much more (in my Eyes, +and perhaps so much less in your own) coming all this way to see +me! I did wonder at the Goodness of that. I suppose +Spedding didn’t tell you that I wrote to him to say +so. It was very unlucky I was out when you came: I have +often thought of that with vexation.</p> +<p>Well, I have gone on Boating, etc., just the same ever +since. And just now I have been applying to Spring Rice to +use his Influence to get a larger Buoy laid at the mouth of our +River; across which lies a vile Bar of shifting Sand, and such a +little Bit of a Buoy to mark it that we often almost miss it +going in and out, and are in danger of running on the Shoal; +which would break the Boat to Pieces if not drown us. Here +is a fine Piece of Information to a Canon of Ely and Professor of +Greek at Cambridge!</p> +<p>Spring Rice does not speak well, I think, of his health; not +at all well; and his Handwriting looks shaky. What a Loyal +Kind Heart it is!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 33--><a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span><i>To W. B. +Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Nov.</i> 28/62.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>I talk indignantly against others bothering you, and do worse +than all myself, I think, what with Bookbindings, Dressing-gowns, +etc. (N.B. You know that the last is only in case when you +are going your Rounds to St. James, etc.) Now I have a +little Query to make: which, not being even so much out of your +way, won’t I hope trouble you. I remember Thompson +telling me that, from what he had read and seen of Grecian +Geography, he almost thought Clytemnestra’s famous Account +of the Line of Signal Fires from Troy to Mycenæ to be +possible (I mean you know in the Agamemnon). At least this +is what <i>I believe</i> he said: I must not assert from a not +very accurate Memory anything that would compromise a Greek +Professor: I am so ignorant of Geography, ancient as well as +modern, I don’t know exactly, or at all, the Points of the +Beacons so enumerated: and Lempriere, the only Classic I have to +refer to, doesn’t help me in what I want. Will you +turn to the passage, and tell me <i>what</i>, and <i>where</i>, +are:</p> +<p>1. The +Μακίστου +σκοπαί—</p> +<p>2. The +Μεσαπίου +φυλακες—</p> +<p>3. The ορος +Αιyίπλαyκτον.</p> +<p><!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span><i>What</i>, <i>where</i>, and <i>why</i>, so +called? The rest I know, or can find in Dictionary, and +Map. But for these—</p> +<blockquote><p> Lempriere<br +/> + Is no-where;<br /> + Liddell and Scott<br /> + Don’t help me a jot:<br /> + When I’m off, Donnegan<br /> + Don’t help me <i>on +again</i>.—<br /> +So I’m obliged to resort to old <i>Donne again</i>!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Rhyme and Epigram quite worthy of the German.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Fragment of a Letter written in +Nov. 1862.</p> +<p>I took down a Juvenal to look for a Passage about the Loaded +Waggon rolling through the Roman Streets. <a +name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34" +class="citation">[34]</a> I couldn’t find it. +Do you know where it is? Not that you need answer this +Question, which only comes in as if I were talking to you. +I remember asking you whence Æschylus made his Agamemnon +speak of Ulysses as unwilling at first to go on the Trojan +Expedition. I see Paley refers it to some Poem called the +Cypria quoted by Proclus. I was asking Donne the other Day +as to some of the names of the Beacon-places in +Clytemnestra’s famous Speech: and I then said I +<i>believed</i>—but only <i>believed</i>, as an inaccurate +Man, not wishing to <!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 35</span>implicate others—that you, +Thompson, had once told me that you thought the Chain of Fires +<i>might</i> have passed from Troy to Mycenæ in the way +described—<i>just possibly</i> <span +class="smcap">might</span>, I think—I assure you I took +care not to commit your Credit by my uncertain Memory, whatever +it was you said was only in a casual way over a Cigar. Are +you for Ατης +θυλλαι—Ατης + +θυλαι—ζωσι? +<a name="citation35a"></a><a href="#footnote35a" +class="citation">[35a]</a> a point I don’t care a straw +about; so don’t answer this neither.</p> +<p>No, I didn’t go to the Exhibition: which, I know, looks +like Affectation: but was honest Incuriosity and Indolence.</p> +<p>. . . On looking over Juvenal for the Lines I wanted I was +amused at the prosaic Truth of one I didn’t want:</p> +<blockquote><p>Intolerabilius nihil est quam femina dives. <a +name="citation35b"></a><a href="#footnote35b" +class="citation">[35b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To George Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 20, 1862.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have been, and am, reading Borrow’s ‘Wild +Wales,’ which <i>I</i> like well, because I can hear him +talking it. But I don’t know if others will like it: +anyhow there is too much of the same thing. Then what is +meant for the plainest record of Conversation, etc., has such +Phrases as ‘Marry <!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 36</span>come up,’ etc., which mar the +sense of Authenticity. Then, no one writing better English +than Borrow in general, there is the vile +<i>Individual</i>—<i>Person</i>—and <i>Locality</i> +always cropping up: and even this vulgar Young Ladyism, +‘The Scenery was beautiful <i>to a Degree</i>.’ +<i>What</i> Degree? When did this vile Phrase arise?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Good Friday</i>, 1863.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>Pray never feel ashamed of not answering my Letters so long as +you do write twice a year, to let me know you live and +thrive. As much oftener as you please: but you are only to +be ashamed of not doing that. For that I really want of all +who have been very kind and very constant +(‘<i>loyal</i>’ is the word that even Emperors now +use of themselves) for so many years. This I say in all +sincerity.</p> +<p>Now, while you talk of being ashamed of not writing, I am +rather ashamed of writing so much to you. Partly because I +really have so little to say; and also because saying that little +too often puts you to the shame you speak of. You say my +Letters are pleasant, however: and they will be so far pleasant +if they assure you that I like talking to you in that way: bad as +I am at more direct communication. I can tell you your <!-- +page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>letters are very pleasant to me; you at least have +always something to tell of your half-year’s Life: and you +tell it so wholesomely, I always say in so capital a Style, as +makes me regret you have not written some of your better +Knowledge for the Public. I suppose (as I have heard) that +your Lectures <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37" +class="citation">[37]</a> are excellent in this way; I can say I +should like very much to attend a course of them, on the Greek +Plays, or on Plato. I dare say you are right about an +Apprenticeship in Red Tape being necessary to make a Man of +Business: but is it too late in Life for you to buckle to and +screw yourself up to condense some of your Lectures and scholarly +Lore into a Book? By ‘too late in Life’ I mean +too late to take Heart to do it.</p> +<p>I am sure you won’t believe that I am <i>scratching</i> +you in return for any scratchings from your hands. We are +both too old, too sensible, and too independent, I think, for +that sort of thing.</p> +<p>As to my going to Ely in June, I don’t know yet what to +say; for I have been Fool enough to order a Boat to be building +which will cost me £350, and she talks of being launched in +the very first week of June, and I have engaged for some short +trips in her as soon as she is afloat. I begin to feel +tired of her already; I felt I should when I was persuaded to +order her: and that is the Folly of it. They say it is a +very bad Thing <!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 38</span>to do Nothing: but I am sure that is +not the case with those who are born to Blunder; I always find +that I have to repent of what I have done, not what I have left +undone; and poor W. Browne used to say it was better even to +repent of what [was] undone than done. You know how glad I +should be if you came here: but I haven’t the Face to ask +it, especially after that misfit last Summer; which was not my +fault however.</p> +<p>I always look upon old Spedding’s as one of the most +wasted Lives I know: and he is a wise Man! Twenty years ago +I told him that he should knock old Bacon off; I don’t mean +give him up, but wind him up at far less sacrifice of Time and +Labour; and edit Shakespeare. I think it <i>would</i> have +been worth his Life to have done those two; and I am always +persuaded his Bacon would have been better if done more at a +heat. I shall certainly buy the new Shakespeare you tell me +of, if the Volumes aren’t bulky; which destroys my pleasure +in the use of a Book.</p> +<p>I have had my share of Influenza: even this Woodbridge, with +all its capital Air and self-contented Stupidity (which you know +is very conducive to long Life) has been wheezing and coughing +all the very mild winter; and the Bell of the Tower opposite my +Room has been tolling oftener than I ever remember.</p> +<p>Though I can’t answer for <i>June</i>, I am really +meditating a small trip to Wiltshire <i>before</i> June; <!-- +page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>mainly to see the daughters of my old George Crabbe who +are settled at Bradford on Avon, and want very much that I should +see how happily they live on very small means indeed. And I +must own I am the more tempted to go abroad because there is +preparation for a Marriage in my Family (a Niece—but not +one of my Norfolk Nieces) which is to be at my Brother’s +near here; and there will be a Levée of People, who drop +in here, etc. This may blow over, however.</p> +<p>Now I ought to be ashamed of this long Letter: don’t you +make me so by answering it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To George Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>June</i> 8/63.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>Your sister wrote me a very kind Letter to tell of her safe +Return home. I must repeat to you very sincerely that I +never recollect to have passed a pleasanter week. As far as +Company went, it was like Old Times at Bredfield; and the +Oak-trees were divine! I never expected to care so very +much for Trees, nor for your flat Country: but I really feel as +one who has bathed in Verdure. I suppose Town-living makes +one alive to such a Change.</p> +<p>I spent a long Day with Thompson: <a name="citation40"></a><a +href="#footnote40" class="citation">[40]</a> and much <!-- page +40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>liked +the painted Roof. On Thursday I went to Lynn: which I took +a Fancy to: the odd old Houses: the Quay: the really grand Inn +(Duke’s Head, in the Market place) and the civil, +Norfolk-talking, People. I went to Hunstanton, which is +rather dreary: one could see the Country at Sandringham was +good. I enquired fruitlessly about those Sandringham +Pictures, etc.: even the Auctioneer, whom I found in the Bar of +the Inn, could tell nothing of where they had gone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Sat. July</i> 18/63.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I can hardly tell you whether I am much pleased with my +new Boat; for I hardly know myself. She is (as I doubted +would be from the first) rather awkward in our narrow River; but +then she was to be a good Sea-boat; and I don’t know but +she is; and will be better in all ways when we have got her in +proper trim. Yesterday we gave her what they call +‘<i>a tuning</i>’ in a rather heavy swell round +Orford Ness: and she did well without a reef, etc. But, now +all is got, I don’t any the more want to go far away by +Sea, any more than by Land; having no Curiosity left for other +Places, and glad to get back to my own Chair and Bed after three +or four Days’ Absence. So long as I get <!-- page +41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>on +the Sea from time to time, it is much the same to me whether off +Aldbro’ or Penzance. And I find I can’t sleep +so well on board as I used to do thirty years ago: and not to get +one’s Sleep, you know, indisposes one more or less for the +Day. However, we talk of Dover, Folkestone, Holland, etc., +which will give one’s sleeping Talents a <i>tuning</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To George Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>July</i> 19, [1863].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>You tell me the Romney is at Gardner’s: but where is +Gardner’s? And what was the Price of the +Portrait? Laurence said well about Romney that, as compared +to Sir Joshua and Gainsboro’, his Pictures looked tinted, +rather than painted; the colour of the Cheek (for instance) +rather superficially laid on, as rouge, rather than ingrained, +and mantling like Blood from below. Laurence had seen those +at last year’s Exhibition: I have not seen near so +many. I remember one that seemed to me capital at Lord +Bute’s in Bedfordshire.</p> +<p>I came home yesterday from a short Cruise to Yarmouth, etc., +where some people were interested in the Channel Fleet. But +I could take no interest in Steam Ships and Iron Rams.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 42--><a +name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>August</i> 4, [1863].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>I have at last done my Holland: you won’t be surprised +to hear that I did it in two days, and was too glad to rush home +on the first pretence, after (as usual) seeing nothing I cared +the least about. The Country itself I had seen long before +in Dutch Pictures, and between Beccles and Norwich: the Towns I +had seen in Picturesque Annuals, Drop Scenes, etc.</p> +<p>But the Pictures—the Pictures—themselves?</p> +<p>Well, you know how I am sure to mismanage: but you will hardly +believe, even of me, that I never saw what was most worth seeing, +the Hague Gallery! But so it was: had I been by myself, I +should have gone off directly (after landing at Rotterdam) to +that: but Mr. Manby was with me: and he thought best to see about +Rotterdam first: which was last Thursday, at whose earliest Dawn +we arrived. So we tore about in an open Cab: saw nothing: +the Gallery not worth a visit: and at night I was half dead with +weariness. Then again on Friday I, by myself, should have +started for the Hague: but as Amsterdam was also to be done, we +thought best to go there (as furthest) first. So we went: +tore about the town in a Cab as before: and I raced through the +Museum seeing (I must say) little better than what I have seen +over and over again in England. I couldn’t <!-- page +43--><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>admire the Night-watch much: Van der Helst’s very +good Picture seemed to me to have been cleaned: I thought the +Rembrandt Burgomasters worth all the rest put together. But +I certainly looked very flimsily at all.</p> +<p>Well, all this done, away we went to the Hague: arriving there +just as the Museum closed for that day; next Day (Saturday) it +was not to be open at all (I having proposed to wait in case it +should), and on Sunday only from 12 to 2. Hearing all this, +in Rage and Despair I tore back to Rotterdam: and on Saturday +Morning got the Boat out of the muddy Canal in which she lay and +tore back down the Maas, etc., so as to reach dear old Bawdsey +shortly after Sunday’s Sunrise. Oh, my Delight when I +heard them call out ‘Orford Lights!’ as the Boat was +plunging over the Swell.</p> +<p>All this is very stupid, really wrong: but you are not +surprised at it in me. One reason however of my Disgust +was, that we (in our Boat) were shut up (as I said) in the Canal, +where I couldn’t breathe. I begged Mr. Manby to let +me take him to an Inn: he would stick to his Ship, he said: and I +didn’t like to leave him. Then it was Murray who +misled me about the Hague Gallery: he knew nothing about its +being shut on Saturdays. Then again we neither of us knew a +word of Dutch: and I was surprised how little was known of +English in return.</p> +<p>But I shall say no more. I think it is the last foreign +Travel I shall ever undertake; unless I should <!-- page 44--><a +name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>go with you +to see the Dresden Madonna: to which there is one less impediment +now Holland is not to be gone through. . . . I am the +Colour of a Lobster with Sea-faring: and my Eyes smart: so +Good-Bye. Let me hear of you. Ever yours E. F. G.</p> +<p>Oh dear!—Rembrandt’s Dissection—where and +how did I miss that?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Aug.</i> 5/63.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I don’t hear from you: I rather think you are deterred +by those <i>Birds</i> which I asked you to print (in my last +Letter) with some Correction, etc., of your own: and which you +have not found Time or Inclination to get done. But +don’t let anything of this sort prevent your writing to me +now and then: no one can be more utterly indifferent than I am +whether these Birds are printed or not: and I suppose I +distinctly told you <i>not</i> to put yourself to any +Trouble. Indeed I dare say I should only be bored with the +Copies when they were printed: for I don’t know a Soul here +who would care for the Thing if it were ten times as well done as +I have done it: nor do I care for Translation or Original, +myself. Oh dear, when I do look into Homer, Dante, and +Virgil, Æschylus, Shakespeare, etc., those Orientals <!-- +page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>look—silly! Don’t resent my saying +so. <i>Don’t</i> they? I am now a good [deal] +about in a new Boat I have built, and thought (as Johnson took +Cocker’s Arithmetic with him on travel, because he +shouldn’t exhaust it) so I would take Dante and Homer with +me, instead of Mudie’s Books, which I read through +directly. I took Dante by way of slow Digestion: not having +looked at him for some years: but I am glad to find I relish him +as much as ever: he atones with the Sea; as you know does the +Odyssey—these are the Men!</p> +<p>I am just returned in my Ship from Holland—where I +stayed—two days!—and was so glad to rush away home +after being imprisoned in a sluggish un-sweet Canal in Rotterdam: +and after tearing about to Amsterdam, the Hague, etc., to see +things which were neither new nor remarkable to me though I had +never seen them before—except in Pictures, which represent +to you the Places as well as if you went there, without the +trouble of going. I am sure wiser men, with keener +<i>out</i>sight and <i>in</i>sight would see what no Pictures +could give: but this I know is always the case with me: this is +my last Voyage abroad, I believe: unless I go to see +Raffaelle’s Madonna at Dresden, which no other Picture can +represent than itself: unless Dante’s Beatrice.</p> +<p>I don’t think you ever told me if you had got, or read, +Spedding’s two first volumes of Bacon. My opinion is +not the least altered of the Case: and (as I anticipated) +Spedding has brooded over his Egg so <!-- page 46--><a +name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>long he has +rather addled it. Thompson told me that the very Papers he +adduces to clear Bacon in Essex’s Business, rather go +against him: I haven’t seen any Notice of the Book in any +Review but Fraser: where Donne (of course) was convinced, etc., +and I hear that even the wise old Spedding is <i>mortified</i> +that he has awakened so little Interest for his Hero. You +know his Mortification would not be on <i>his own</i> +score. His last Letter to me (some months ago) seemed to +indicate that he could scarce lift up his Pen to go on—he +had as yet, he said, written nothing of volumes 3 and 4. +But I suppose he <i>will</i> in time. I say this Life of +his wasted on a vain work is a Tragedy pathetic as Antigone or +Iphigenia. Of Tennyson I hear but little: and I have ceased +to look forward to any future Work of his. Thackeray seems +dumb as a gorged Blackbird too: all growing old!</p> +<p>I have lost my sister Kerrich, the only one of my family I +much cared for, or who much cared for me.</p> +<p>But (not to dwell on what cannot be helped, and to which my +talking of all growing old led me) I see in last week’s +Athenæum great Praise of a new Volume of Poems by Jean +Ingelow. The Reviewer talks of a ‘new Poet,’ +etc., quite unaware that some dozen years ago the ‘new +Poet’ published a Volume (as you may remember) with as +distinct Indications of sweet, fresh, and original Genius as +anything he adduces from this second Volume. I remember +writing a sort of Review, when about you at Bramford, <!-- page +47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>which +I sent to Mitford, to try and give the Book a little move: but +Mitford had just quitted the Gentleman’s Magazine, and I +tore up my Paper. Your Elizabeth knows (I think) all about +this Lady: who, I suppose, is connected with Lincolnshire: for +the Reviewer speaks of some of the Poems as relating to that +Coast—Shipwrecks, etc. I was told that Tennyson was +writing a sort of Lincolnshire Idyll: I will bet on Miss Ingelow +now: he should never have left his old County, and gone up to be +suffocated by London Adulation. He has lost that which +caused the long roll of the Lincolnshire Wave to reverberate in +the measure of Locksley Hall. Don’t believe that I +rejoice like a Dastard in what I believe to be the Decay of a +Great Man: my sorrow has been so much about it that (for one +reason) I have the less cared to meet him of late years, having +nothing to say in sincere praise. Nor do I mean that his +Decay is all owing to London, etc. He is growing old: and I +don’t believe much in the Fine Arts thriving on an old +Tree: I can’t think Milton’s Paradise Lost so good as +his Allegro, etc.; one feels the strain of the Pump all through: +only Shakespeare—the exception to all rule—struck out +Macbeth at past fifty. <a name="citation47a"></a><a +href="#footnote47a" class="citation">[47a]</a></p> +<p>By the way, there is a new—and the best—edition <a +name="citation47b"></a><a href="#footnote47b" +class="citation">[47b]</a> of <i>Him</i> coming out: edited by +two men (Fellows) of Cambridge. Just the Text, with the +various readings of Folio and Quartos: scarce any notes: but +suggestions of Alteration from Pope, Theobald, Coleridge, <!-- +page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>etc., and—Spedding; who (as I told him twenty +years ago) should have done the work these men are doing. +He also says they are well doing about <i>half</i> what is wanted +to be done. He should—for he could—have done +all; and one Frontispiece Portrait would have served for Author +and Editor.</p> +<p>Come—here is a long Letter—and (as I read it over) +with more <i>Go</i> than usually attends my old Pen now. +Let it inspire you to answer: never mind <i>the +Birds</i>:—which really suggests to me one of Dante’s +beautiful lines which made me <i>cry</i> the other Day at +Sea.</p> +<blockquote><p>Mentre che gli occhi per la fronda verde<br /> + Ficcava io così, come far suole<br /> +Chi dietro all’ uccellin la vita perde,<br /> + Lo più che Padre mi dicea, etc. <a +name="citation48a"></a><a href="#footnote48a" +class="citation">[48a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>October</i> 4/63.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>Very rude of me not to have acknowledged your Tauchnitz <a +name="citation48b"></a><a href="#footnote48b" +class="citation">[48b]</a> before: but I have been almost living +in my Ship ever since: and I supposed also that you were abroad +in Norfolk. I pitied you undergoing those dreadful +Oratorios: I never heard one that was not tiresome, and in part +ludicrous. Such subjects are scarce fitted for +Catgut. Even Magnus Handel—even <!-- page 49--><a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>Messiah. He (Handel) was a good old Pagan at +heart, and (till he had to yield to the fashionable Piety of +England) stuck to Opera, and Cantatas, such as Acis and Galatea, +Milton’s Penseroso, Alexander’s Feast, etc., where he +could revel and plunge and frolic without being tied down to +Orthodoxy. And these are (to my mind) his really great +works: these, and his Coronation Anthems, where Human Pomp is to +be accompanied and illustrated</p> +<p>Now for Tauchnitz; somehow, that which you sent me is not the +thing: I don’t like it half so well as my little Tauchnitz +stereotype Sophocles of 1827. The Euripides you send bears +date 1846: and is certainly not so clear to my eyes as +1827. Never mind: don’t trouble yourself further: I +shall light upon what I want one of these Days. It is +wonderful how <i>The Sea</i> brought up this Appetite for Greek: +it likes to be called +Θαλασσα and +ποντος better than the wretched +word ‘<i>Sea</i>,’ I am sure: and the Greeks +(especially Æschylus—after Homer) are full of +Seafaring Sounds and Allusions. I think the Murmur of the +Ægean (if that is their Sea) wrought itself into their +Language. How is it the Islandic (which I read is our +Mother Tongue) was not more Poluphloisboi-ic?</p> +<p>Sophocles has almost shaken my Allegiance to +Æschylus. Oh, those two Œdipuses! but then that +Agamemnon! Well: one shall be the Handel and ’tother +the Haydn; one the Michel Angelo, and ’tother the +Raffaelle, of Tragedy. As to the famous Prometheus, I +think, as I always thought, it is somewhat <!-- page 50--><a +name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>over-rated +for Sublimity; I can’t see much in the far famed Conception +of the Hero’s Character: and I doubt (<i>rest +wanting</i>).</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 7/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I want to know about your two Portraits of Thackeray: +the first one (which I think Smith and Elder have) I know by the +Print: I want to know about one you last did (some two years +ago?) whether you think it as good and characteristic: and also +who has it. Frederic Tennyson sent me a Photograph of W. M. +T. old, white, massive, and melancholy, sitting in his +Library.</p> +<p>I am surprized almost to find how much I am thinking of him: +so little as I had seen him for the last ten years; not once for +the last five. I had been told—by you, for +one—that he was spoiled. I am glad therefore that I +have scarce seen him since he was ‘old +Thackeray.’ I keep reading his Newcomes of nights, +and as it were hear him saying so much in it; and it seems to me +as if he might be coming up my Stairs, and about to come +(singing) into my Room, as in old Charlotte Street, etc., thirty +years ago. <a name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50" +class="citation">[50]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 51--><a +name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span><i>To George +Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 12/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Have we exchanged a word about Thackeray since his +Death? I am quite surprised to see how I sit moping about +him: to be sure, I keep reading his Books. Oh, the Newcomes +are fine! And now I have got hold of Pendennis, and seem to +like that much more than when I first read it. I keep +hearing him say so much of it; and really think I shall hear his +Step up the Stairs to this Lodging as in old Charlotte Street +thirty years ago. Really, a great Figure has sunk under +Earth.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 23/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>You see I return with your other troubles of Term time. +Only when you have ten spare minutes let me know how you are, +etc. . . . I have almost wondered at myself how much +occupied I have been thinking of Thackeray; so little as I had +seen of him for the last ten years, and my Interest in him a +little gone from hearing he had become somewhat spoiled: which +also some of his later writings hinted to me of <!-- page 52--><a +name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>themselves. But his Letters, and former works, +bring me back the old Thackeray. . . . I had never read +Pendennis and the Newcomes since their first appearance till this +last month. They are wonderful; Fielding’s seems to +me coarse work in comparison. I have indeed been thinking +of little this last month but of these Books and their +Author. Of his Letters to me I have only kept some Dozen, +just to mark the different Epochs of our Acquaintance.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 31/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I have only Today got your Letter: have been walking out by +myself in the Seckford Almshouse Garden till 9 p.m. in a sharp +Frost—with Orion stalking over the South before +me—(do you know him in India? I forget) have come +in—drunk a glass of Porter; and am minded to answer you +before I get to Bed. Perhaps the Porter will leave me +stranded, however, before I get to the End of my Letter.</p> +<p>Before this reaches you—probably before I write +it—you will have heard of Thackeray’s sudden +Death. It was told me as I was walking alone in those same +Seckford Gardens on Christmas-day Night; by a +Corn-merchant—one George Manby—(do you remember him?) +who came on purpose to tell me—and to wish me in other +respects a Happy Christmas. <!-- page 53--><a +name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>I have +thought little else than of W. M. T. ever since—what with +reading over his Books, and the few Letters I had kept of his; +and thinking over our five and thirty years’ Acquaintance +as I sit alone by my Fire these long Nights. I had seen +very little of him for these last ten years; <i>nothing</i> for +the last five; he did not care to write; and people told me he +was become a little spoiled: by London praise, and some +consequent Egotism. But he was a very fine Fellow. +His Books are wonderful: Pendennis; Vanity Fair; and the +Newcomes; to which compared Fielding’s seems to me coarse +work. I don’t know yet how his two daughters are left +provided for; the Papers say well. He had built and +furnished a fine House at 7 or 8000 <i>£</i> cost; which is +as good a Property for them to let or sell as any other, I +suppose; and the Copyright of his Books must also be a good +Property: always supposing he had not encumbered all these by +anticipation.</p> +<p>I was not at all well myself for three months; but either the +Doctor’s Stuff, or the sharp clear weather, or both, have +set me up pretty much as I was before. I have nothing to +tell, as usual, of People or Places; for I have scarce stirred +from this Place since my little Ship was laid up in the middle of +October. Donne writes sometimes; I see an article of his +about the Antonines advertised in the present Edinburgh; but that +you know is out of my Line. His second son, Mowbray, is +lately married to a Daughter (I don’t know which) of Mrs. +Salmon’s; widow of <!-- page 54--><a +name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>a former +Rector here, whom your Elizabeth will remember all about, I dare +say.</p> +<p>This time ten years I was lodging at Oxford, reading Persian +with you. I doubt I shall never do so again; I am too lazy +to turn Dictionaries over now; and indeed had some while ceased +to expect much to turn up from them. You are quite right, +as a Scholar, to work out the Mine; but you admit that nothing is +likely to come out of such Value as from the Greek, Latin, and +English, which we have ready to our hands. Did I tell you +how pleased I had been with Sophocles and Æschylus in my +Boat this Summer?</p> +<p>I dare say you are quite right about my ‘Birds’: +indeed I think I had always told you that my Version was of no +<i>public</i> use; I only wanted a few Copies for private use; +and I wanted you to add a short Account, and a few Notes; in +which I am shy of trusting my own Irish Accuracy. But you +have plenty of better work, and <i>this</i> is quite as well +left.</p> +<p>Miss Ingelow’s second volume isn’t half so good as +her first, to my thinking; more ambitious, with a twang of +Tennyson. I can’t add to the List you have sent of +Elizabeth’s Poems.</p> +<p>Maria C[harlesworth] was staying with my Brother at Boulge in +the Autumn, and sent a very kind message to me; I now am sorry I +did not see her; but I keep out of the way of the <i>Company</i> +at Boulge, though I am glad to see my Brother here. So I +wish I had asked her to take the Trouble to come <!-- page +55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>and +see me in my Den. Alas! if ever you do come back, you will +have to come and see me; for I really go nowhere now. +Frederic Tennyson came to me for a few Days, and talked of you +two: he was looking very well; and was grand and kind as +before. I hear little of Alfred. Spedding’s +Bacon seems to hang fire; they say he is disheartened at the +little Interest, and less Conviction, that his two first volumes +carried; Thompson told me they had only convinced <i>him</i> the +other way; and that <i>Ellis</i> had long given up Bacon’s +Defence before he died.</p> +<p>Now my sheet is filled on the strength of my own Glass of +Porter—all at a heat. So Good Bye: ever yours, E. F. +G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>April</i> 23/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>I only got home last Night, from Wiltshire, where I had been +to see Miss Crabbe, daughter of the old Vicar whom you +remember. I found your two Letters: and then your +Box. When I had unscrewed the last Screw, it was as if a +Coffin’s Lid were raised; there was the Dead Man. <a +name="citation55"></a><a href="#footnote55" +class="citation">[55]</a> I took him up to my Bedroom; and +when morning came, he was there—reading; alive, and yet +dead. I am perfectly satisfied with it on the whole; +indeed, could only have suggested a very, very, slight +alteration, if any. . .</p> +<p><!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>As I passed through London, I saw that wonderful +Collection of Rubbish, the late Bishop of Ely’s Pictures; +but I fell desperately in Love with a Sir Joshua, a young Lady in +white with a blue Sash, and a sweet blue Sky over her sweet, +noble, Head; far above Gainsboro’ in its Air and +Expression. I see in the Papers that it went for +£165; which, if I thought well to give so much for any +Picture, I could almost have given, by some means, for such a +delightful Work.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>April</i> 27/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I will send back the Gainsboro’ copy <a +name="citation56a"></a><a href="#footnote56a" +class="citation">[56a]</a> at once; I think the Original must be +one of the happiest of the Painter’s; while he had Vandyke +in his Eye, with whom he was to go to Heaven. <a +name="citation56b"></a><a href="#footnote56b" +class="citation">[56b]</a> I will not argue how far he was +superior to Reynolds in Colour; but in the Air of Dignity and +Gentility (in the better Sense) he was surely inferior; it must +be so, from the Difference of Character in the two men. +Madame D’Arblay (Miss Burney) relates how one day when she +was dining with Sir Joshua at Richmond, she chanced to see him +looking at her in a peculiar way; she said to him, ‘I know +what you are thinking about.’ ‘Ay,’ he +said, ‘you may come and sit to me now whenever you +please.’ They had often met; but he at last caught +<i>the</i> <!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 57</span>phase of her which was best; but I +don’t think it ever went to Canvas. I don’t +think Gainsboro’ could have painted the lovely portrait at +the Bishop of Ely’s, slight as it was; Sir Joshua was by +much the finer Gentleman; indeed Gainsboro’ was a +Scamp.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In the summer of 1864 FitzGerald bought a small farmhouse in +the outskirts of Woodbridge, which he afterwards converted into +Little Grange.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To George Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>July</i> 31/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>I returned yesterday from a Ten Days’ Cruise to the +Sussex Coast: which was pleasant enough. To-morrow I talk +of Lowestoft and Yarmouth.</p> +<p>. . . Read Newman’s Apologia pro Vitâ Suâ, +something of a very different order [from the ‘Dean’s +English’], deeply interesting; pathetic, eloquent, and, I +think, sincere: sincere, in not being conscious of all the steps +he took in reaching his present Place.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Aug.</i> 31, [1864].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I hope you don’t think I have forgotten you. +Your visit gave me a sad sort of Pleasure, dashed with the Memory +of other Days; I now <!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 58</span>see so few People, and those all of +the common sort, with whom I never talk of our old Subjects; so I +get in some measure unfitted for such converse, and am almost +saddened with the remembrance of an old contrast when it +comes. And there is something besides; a Shadow of Death: +but I won’t talk of such things: only believe I don’t +forget you, nor wish to be forgotten by you. Indeed, your +kindness touched me.</p> +<p>I have been reading Juvenal with Translation, etc., in my +Boat. Nearly the best things seem to me what one may call +Epistles, rather than Satires: <span +class="smcap">viii</span>. To Ponticus: <span +class="smcap">xi</span>. To Persicus: and <span +class="smcap">xii</span>. <span class="smcap">xiii</span>. and +<span class="smcap">xiv</span> to several others: and, in these, +leaving out the directly satirical Parts. Satires <span +class="smcap">iii</span> and <span class="smcap">x</span>, like +Horace’s Poems, are prostituted by Parliamentary and vulgar +use, and should lie by for a while. One sees Lucretius, I +think, in many parts; but Juvenal can’t rise to Lucretius, +who is, after all, the true sublime Satirist of poor Man, and of +something deeper than his Corruptions and Vices: and he looks on +all, too, with ‘a Countenance more in Sorrow than in +Anger.’ By the way, I want you to tell me the name +and Title of that Essay on Lucretius <a name="citation58"></a><a +href="#footnote58" class="citation">[58]</a> which you said was +enlarged and reprinted by the Author from the original Cambridge +and Oxford Essays. I want much to get it.</p> +<p><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>There is a fine Passage in Juvenal’s 6th Satire on +Women: beginning line 634, ‘Fingimus hæc, etc.’ +to 650: but (as I think) leaving out lines 639, 640; because one +<i>can</i> understand without them, and they jingle sadly with +their one vowel ending. I mention this because it occurs in +a Satire which, from its Subject, you may perhaps have little +cared for.</p> +<p>Another Book I have had is Wesley’s Journal, which I +used to read, but gave away my Copy—to you? or Robert +Groome <a name="citation59a"></a><a href="#footnote59a" +class="citation">[59a]</a> was it? If you don’t know +it, do know it; it is curious to think of this Diary of his +running almost coevally with Walpole’s Letter-Diary; the +two men born and dying too within a few years of one another, and +with such different Lives to record. And it is remarkable +to read pure, unaffected, and undying, English, while Addison and +Johnson are tainted with a Style, which all the world +imitated! Remember me to all. Ever yours E. F. G.</p> +<p>‘Sed genus humanum damnat caligo Futuri’—a +Lucretian line from Juvenal. <a name="citation59b"></a><a +href="#footnote59b" class="citation">[59b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Nov.</i> 11/64.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Let me hear of you whenever you have something to tell of +yourself: or indeed whenever you <!-- page 60--><a +name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>have a few +spare minutes, and happen, to think—of me. I +don’t forget you: and ‘out of sight’ is not +‘out of mind’ with you, and three or four more in the +World. I hope you see Donne at times: and you must look out +for old Spedding, that melancholy Ruin of the 19th Century, with +his half-white-washed Bacon. Perhaps you will see another +Ruin—the Author of Enoch Arden. Compare that with the +Spontaneous <i>Go</i> of Palace of Art, Mort d’Arthur, +Gardener’s Daughter, Locksley Hall, Will Waterproof, +Sleeping Palace, Talking Oak, and indeed, one may say, all the +two volumes of 1842. As to Maud, I think it the best Poem, +as a whole, after 1842.</p> +<p>To come down to very little, from once great, Things—I +don’t know if it’s your coming home, or my being +better this Winter, or what: but I have caught up a long ago +begun Version of my dear old <i>Mágico</i>, and have so +recast it that scarce a Plank remains of the original! +Pretty impudence: and yet all done to conciliate English, or +modern, Sympathy. This I sha’n’t publish: so +say (pray!) nothing of it at all—remember—only I +shall print some Copies for you and one or two more: and you and +Elizabeth will like it a great deal too much. There is +really very great Skill in the Adaptation, and Remodelling of +it. By the bye, would you translate <i>Demonio</i>, +<i>Lucifer</i>, or <i>Satan</i>? One of the two I +take. I cut out all the precioso very ingeniously: and give +all the Mountain-moving, <!-- page 61--><a +name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>etc., in the +second Act without Stage direction, so as it may seem to pass +only in the dazzled Eyes, or Fantasy, of Cyprian. All this +is really a very difficult Job to me; not worth the Candle, I +dare say: only that you two will be pleased. I also +increase the religious Element in the Drama; and make Cyprian +outwit the Devil more cleverly than he now does; for the Devil +was certainly too clever to be caught in his own Art. +<i>That</i> was very good Fun for an Autodafé Audience, +however.</p> +<p>But please say nothing of this to any one. I should like +to take up the Vida es Sueño too in the same manner; but +these plays are more difficult than all the others put together: +and I have no spur now.</p> +<p>How would you translate Pliny’s ‘Quisquis est +Deus, et quacumque in parte, totus est Sensûs, totus +Visûs, totus Auditûs, totus Animæ, totus Animi, +totus Sui?’ <a name="citation61"></a><a href="#footnote61" +class="citation">[61]</a></p> +<p>This Passage is alluded to by Calderon; but, in the manner of +our old Playwrights, I quote it in the Latin and translate. +I want to know by you if I have done it sufficiently; and I +don’t send you mine, in order that you may send me your +Version freely.</p> +<p>Now, Good Bye: I suppose it’s this rainy Day that draws +out this, with several other Letters, that had waited some while +to be written.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours ever E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 62--><a +name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span><i>To R. C. +Trench</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>February</i> 25/65.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lord</span>,</p> +<p>Edward Cowell’s return to England <a +name="citation62a"></a><a href="#footnote62a" +class="citation">[62a]</a> set him and me talking of old Studies +together, left off since he went to India. And I took up +three sketched out Dramas, two of Calderon, <a +name="citation62b"></a><a href="#footnote62b" +class="citation">[62b]</a> and have licked the two Calderons into +some sort of shape of my own, without referring to the +Original. One of them goes by this Post to your Grace; and +when I tell you the other is no other than your own +‘Life’s a Dream,’ you won’t wonder at my +sending the present one on Trial, both done as they are in the +same lawless, perhaps impudent, way. I know you would not +care who did these things, so long as they were well done; but +one doesn’t wish to meddle, and in so free-and-easy a way, +with a Great Man’s Masterpieces, and utterly fail: +especially when two much better men have been before one. +One excuse is, that Shelley and Dr. Trench only took parts of +these plays, not caring surely—who can?—for the +underplot and buffoonery which stands most in the way of the +tragic Dramas. Yet I think it is as a whole, that is, the +whole main Story, that these Plays are capital; and therefore I +have tried to present that whole, leaving out the rest, or nearly +so; and altogether the <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 63</span>Thing has become so altered one way +or another that I am afraid of it now it’s done, and only +send you one Play (the other indeed is not done printing: neither +to be published), which will be enough if it is an absurd +Attempt. For the Vida is not so good even, I doubt: dealing +more in the Heroics, etc.</p> +<p>I tell Donne he is too partial a Friend; so is Cowell: +Spedding, I think, wouldn’t care. So, as you were +very kind about the other Plays, and love Calderon (which I doubt +argues against me), I send you <i>my</i> Magician.</p> +<p>You will not mind if I blunder in addressing you; in which I +steered a middle course between the modes Donne told me; and so, +probably, come to the Ground!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Ipswich</span>. <a +name="citation63"></a><a href="#footnote63" +class="citation">[63]</a><br /> +<i>April</i> 10/65.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I was much obliged to you for your former Letters; and now +send you the second Play. This I don’t suppose +you’ll like as well as the first: perhaps not at all; it is +rather ‘Ercles vein’ I doubt. I wish to know +however from you what you do think of it; because if it seem to +you at all preposterous, I shall not send it to some others: but +leave them with the first, which really does <!-- page 64--><a +name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>please those +I wished it to please, with its fine Story and Moral. If +you like what I now send, I will send you a Copy of Both stitched +together, and another copy to your Cousin: and indeed to any one +else you think might be pleased with it.</p> +<p>I am indulging in the expensive amusement of Building, though +not on a very large scale. It <i>is</i> very pleasant, +certainly, to see one’s little Gables and Chimnies mount +into Air and occupy a Place in the Landscape.</p> +<p>There is a duller Memoir than the ‘Lady of +Quality,’ Miss Lucy Aitken’s Letters, etc. You +will find the Private Life of an Eastern Queen a good little +Book. I have now got Carlyle’s two last volumes of +Frederick: of which I have only read the latter Part; I +don’t know whether I can read through the Wars and Battles, +which are said to be very fine.</p> +<p>The piece of Literature I really could benefit Posterity with, +I do believe, is an edition of that wonderful and aggravating +Clarissa Harlowe; and this I would effect with a pair of Scissors +only. It would not be a bit too long as it is, if it were +all equally good; but pedantry comes in, and might, I think, be +cleared away, leaving the remainder one of <i>the great</i>, +<i>original</i>, <i>Works of the World</i>! in this Line. +Lovelace is the wonderful character, for Wit: and there is some +grand Tragedy too. And nobody reads it! Ever +yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 65--><a +name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span><i>To Mrs. +Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1865].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I answer you thus directly because I would stick in a Bit of a +Letter from Thompson of Cambridge: which relates to a question I +asked him weeks ago, as I told E. B. C. I would.</p> +<p>You must not think I was in a hurry to have my Play praised: I +was really fearful of its being bombastic. You are so +enthusiastic in your old and kind Regards and Memories that I can +scarce rely on you for a cool Judgment in the matter. But I +gather from E. B. C. that he was not struck with what I doubted: +and I am very glad, at any rate, that you are very well pleased, +both of you.</p> +<p>E. B. C. is quite right about obscurity of Phrase: which is +inexcusable unless where the Passion of the Speakers makes such +utterance natural. This is very often not the case in the +Plays, I know: and the Language, as he says, becomes obscure from +elaborate Brevity.</p> +<p>What you tell of the Music in the Air at your Father’s +Death—Oh, how Frederic Tennyson would open all his Eyes at +this! For he lives in a World of +Spirits—Swedenborg’s World, which you would not +approve; which I cannot sympathize with: but yet I admire the +Titanic old Soul so resolutely blind to the Philosophy of the +Day.</p> +<p><!-- page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>Oh, I think England would be much better for E. B. C. +and you: but I can’t say anything against what he thinks +the Duty chalked out for him. I don’t believe the +English Rule will hold in India: but, meanwhile, a good Man may +think he must do what Good he can there, come what may of +it. There is also Good to be done in England!</p> +<p>The Wind is still very ‘stingy’ though the Sun +shines, and though it blows from the West. So we are all +better at our homes for the present.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ramsgate</span>: +<i>August</i> 27, [1865].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>Your letter found me here, where I have been a week cruising +about with my old Brother Peter. To morrow we +leave—for Calais, as we propose; just to touch French Soil, +and drink a Bottle of French Wine in the old Town: then home +again to Woodbridge as fast as we may. For thither goes +William Airy, partly in hopes of meeting me: he says he is much +shaken by the dangerous illness he had this last Spring: and +thinks, truly enough, that our chances of meeting in this World +sensibly diminish.</p> +<p>You must not talk of my kindness to you at <!-- page 67--><a +name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>Lowestoft: +when all the good is on your side, going out of your way to see +me. Really it makes me ashamed.</p> +<p>Together with your Letter, I found a very kind one from Mrs. +Kemble, who took the trouble to write only to tell me how well +she liked the Plays. I know that Good Nature would not +affect her Judgment (which I very honestly think too favourable), +but it was Good Nature made her write to tell me.</p> +<p>Don’t forget to sound Murray at some good opportunity +about a Selection from Crabbe. Of course he won’t let +me do it, though I could do it better than any he would be likely +to employ: for you know I rely on my Appreciation of what others +do, not on what I can do myself.</p> +<p>The ‘Parcel’ you write of has not been sent me +here: but I shall find it when I return, and will write to you +again. I puzzle my Brains to remember what the +‘<i>Conscript</i>’ is.</p> +<p>I have been reading, and reducing to one volume from two +(<i>more meo</i>), a trashy Book, ‘Bernard’s +Recollections of the Stage,’ with some good recollections +of the Old Actors, up to Macklin and Garrick. But, of all +people’s, one can’t trust Actors’ +Stories. In ‘Lethe,’ where your Garrick figures +in Sir Geoffrey, also figured Woodward, as ‘The Fine +Gentleman’; so I think, at least, is the Title of a very +capital mezzotint I have of him in Character,</p> +<p><!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>Oh! famous is your Story of Lord Chatham and the +Bishops; <a name="citation68"></a><a href="#footnote68" +class="citation">[68]</a> be sure you set it afloat again in +print.</p> +<p>You don’t tell me if Trench be recovered: but I shall +conclude from your Silence that, at any rate, he is not now +seriously ill.</p> +<p>Now I hear my good Brother come in from Morning Mass, and we +shall have Breakfast. He is really capital to sail about +with. I read your letter yesterday while sitting out on a +Bench with her—his Wife—a brave Woman, of the +O’Dowd sort; and she wanted to know all about you and +yours. We like Ramsgate very much: genial air: pleasant +Country: good Harbour, Piers, etc.: and the Company, though +overflowing, not showy, nor vulgar: but seemingly come to make +the most of a Holiday. I am surprized how little of the +Cockney, in its worse aspect, is to be seen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Septr.</i> 5/65.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Let me hear of you: I don’t forget, though I don’t +see, you. Nor am I so wrapt up in my Ship as not to have +many a day on which I should be very glad <!-- page 69--><a +name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>to dispense +with her and have you over here: but I can’t well make sure +what day: sometimes I ask one man to go, sometimes another, and +so all is cut up. Besides I was away six weeks in all at +Lowestoft; then a fortnight at Ramsgate, Dover, Calais, +etc. When the apple +ερευθεται +ακρω επ +οσδω <a name="citation69a"></a><a +href="#footnote69a" class="citation">[69a]</a>—then my Ship +will be laid up, and one more Summer of mine departed, and then I +hope you will come over to talk over many things.</p> +<p>Read Lady Duff Gordon’s Letters from Egypt: which you +won’t like, because of some latitude in Religious thought, +and also because of some vulgar <i>slang</i>, such as Schoolboys, +and American Women use, and it is now the bad fashion for even +English Ladies to adopt. But the Book is worth reading +notwithstanding this, and making allowance for a Lady or +Gentleman seeing all rose-colour in a new Pet or Plaything. +On sending the Book back to the Library this morning I quote out +of it something about Oriental Poetry which you may know well +enough but I was not so conscious of. In a Love-song where +the Lover declines a Physician for the wound which <i>the +Wind</i> (Love) has caused, he says ‘For only <i>he</i> who +has hurt can cure me.’ ‘N.B. The +masculine pronoun is always used instead of the feminine in +Poetry, out of decorum: sometimes even in conversation.’ <a +name="citation69b"></a><a href="#footnote69b" +class="citation">[69b]</a> (It being as forbidden to talk +of women as to see them, etc.)</p> +<p><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>I was very pleased with Calais, which remains the +‘vieille France’ of my Childhood.</p> +<p>Donne came to see me for a Day at Lowestoft, the same +‘vieil Donne’ also of my Boyhood.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Markethill</span>: <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Nov.</i> 1/65.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>Let me hear how you and yours are: it is now a long [time] +since we exchanged Letters. G. Crabbe wrote me you were +corresponding with a very different person: the Editor of the +Times. I never see that nor any other Paper but the good +old Athenæum. G. Crabbe also said you were at the +Norwich Congress. Then why didn’t you come +here? He said the Bishop of Oxford, whom he had never met +before, met him at Lord Walsingham’s, and shook him so +cordially by the hand, and pressed him so for a visit to Oxford, +that he (G. C.) rather thought he (Sam) deserved the Epithet +usually added to his Name. Perhaps, however, the Bishop +<i>did</i> feel for a Grandson of the Poet.</p> +<p>I have no more to tell you of myself this past Summer than for +so many Summers past. Only sailing about, Lowestoft, +Ramsgate, Dover, Calais, etc. I was very pleased indeed +with Calais; just <!-- page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 71</span>as I remember it forty years ago +except for the Soldiers’ Uniform.</p> +<p>Duncan wrote me not a very cheerful Letter some while ago: he +was unwell, of Cold and rheumatism, I think. Of other +Friends I know nothing: but am going to write my annual Letters +to them. What a State of things to come to! How one +used to wonder, hearing our predecessors talk in that way, +something! But I don’t think our successors wonder if +we talk so; for they seem to begin Life with indifference, +instead of ending it.</p> +<p>My house is not yet finished: two rooms have taken about five +months: which is not slow for Woodbridge. To day I have +been catching Cold in looking at some Trees +planted—‘factura Nepotibus umbram.’</p> +<p>Now this precious Letter can’t go to-night for want of +Envelope; and in half an hour two Merchants are coming to eat +Oysters and drink Burton ale. I would rather be alone, and +smoke my own pipe in peace over one of Trollope’s +delightful Novels, ‘Can you forgive her?’</p> +<p>Now, my dear Allen, here is enough of me, for your sake as +well as mine. But let me hear something from you. All +good Remembrances to the Wife and those of your Children who +remember yours ever, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 72--><a +name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>[<span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>]<br /> +<i>Decr.</i> 3/65.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I enclose you two prints which may amuse you to look at and +keep.</p> +<p>I have a wonderful Museum of such scraps of Portrait; about +once a year a Man sends me a Portfolio of such things. But +my chief Article is Murderers; and I am now having a Newgate +Calendar from London. I don’t ever wish to see and +hear these things tried; but, when they are in print, I like to +sit in Court then, and see the Judges, Counsel, Prisoners, Crowd: +hear the Lawyers’ Objections, the Murmur in the Court, +etc.</p> +<blockquote><p>The Charge is prepared; the Lawyers are met,<br /> +The Judges are rang’d, a terrible show.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>De Soyres came here the other Day, and we were talking of you; +he said you had invited Newman to your house. A brave +thing, if you did. I think his Apology very noble; and +himself quite honest, so far as he can see himself. The +Passage in No. 7 of the Apology where he describes the State of +the World as wholly irreflective of its Creator unless you +turn—to Popery—is very grand.</p> +<p>Now I probably sha’n’t write to you again before +Christmas: so let me wish you and Mrs. Allen and your Family a +Happy time of it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>I was very disappointed in Miss Berry’s +Correspondence; one sees a Woman of Sense, Taste, Good Breeding, +and I suppose, Good Looks; but what more, to make three great +Volumes of! Compare her with Trench’s Mother. +And with all her perpetual travels to improve health and spirits +(which lasted perfectly well to near ninety) one would have been +more interested if there were one single intimation of caring +about any Body but herself, helping one poor Person, etc.</p> +<p>I don’t know if she or Mrs. Delany is dullest.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>March</i> 15/66.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>To-day’s Post brings me a Letter from Robert Groome, +which tells me (on ‘Times’ authority) that you are +Master of Trinity. Judging by your last Letter, I suppose +this was unexpected by yourself: I have no means of knowing +whether it was expected by others beside those who voted you to +the Honour. For I had heard nothing further of the whole +matter, even of Whewell’s accident, than you yourself told +me. Well, at our time of Life, any very vehement +Congratulations are, I suppose, irrelevant on both sides. +But I am very sure I do congratulate you heartily, if you are +yourself gratified. Whether you are glad of the Post itself +or not, you must, I think, be gratified with the Confidence in +your Scholarship <!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 74</span>and Character which has made your +Society elect you. And so far one may unreservedly +congratulate you. . . .</p> +<p>To-day I was looking at the Carpenters, etc., carrying away +Chips, etc., of a Tree I had cut down: and, coming home, +read—</p> +<blockquote><p>δρυος +πεσουσης +πας ανηρ +ξυλευεται +<a name="citation74"></a><a href="#footnote74" +class="citation">[74]</a>—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Whose Line?—Certainly not of</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours ever sincerely, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>March</i> 19 [1866].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>You shall hear a very little about me; and you shall tell me a +very little about yourself? I forget when I last wrote to +you, or heard from you: I suppose, about the end of Autumn. +Here have I been ever since, without stirring further than +Ipswich: and seeing nobody you know except R. Groome once. +He wrote me the other day to announce that Thompson was Master of +Trinity; an Honour quite unexpected by Thompson himself, I +conclude, seeing that he himself had written to me only a +Fortnight before, telling me of Whewell’s Disaster, and +sincerely hoping for his Recovery, from a Dread of a new King +<!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>Log or King Stork, he said. He also said something +of coming here at Easter: which now, I suppose, he won’t be +able to do. I have written to congratulate him in a sober +way on his Honours; for, at our Time of Life, I think exultation +would be unseasonable on either side. He will make a +magnanimous Master, I believe; doing all the Honours of his +Station well, if he have health.</p> +<p>Spedding wrote me a kind long Letter some while ago. +Duncan tells me Cameron has had a slight Paralysis. Death +seems to rise like a Wall against one now whichever way one +looks. When I read Boswell and other Memoirs now, what +presses on me most is—All these people who talked and acted +so busily are gone. It is said that when Talma advanced +upon the Stage his Thought on facing the Audience was, that they +were all soon to be Nothing.</p> +<p>I bought Croker’s Boswell; which I find good to refer +to, but not to read; so hashed up it is with +interpolations. Besides, one feels somehow that a bad +Fellow like Croker mars the Good Company he introduces. One +should stop with Malone, who was a good Gentleman: only rather +too loyal to Johnson, and so unjust to any who dared hint a fault +in him. Yet <i>they</i> were right. Madame +D’Arblay, who was also so vext with Mrs. Piozzi, admits +that she had a hard time with Johnson in his last two years; so +irritable and violent he became that she says People would not +ask <i>him</i> when they invited all the rest of the Party.</p> +<p><!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>Why, my Paper is done, talking about these dead and gone +whom you and I have only known in Print; and yet as well so as +most we know in person. I really find my Society in such +Books; all the People seem humming about me. But now let me +hear of you, Allen: and of Wife and Family.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +[<i>March</i>, 1866.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>I should write ‘My dear Master’ but I don’t +know if you are yet installed. However, I suppose my +Letter, so addressed, will find you and not the Old Lion now +stalking in the Shades. . . .</p> +<p>In burning up a heap of old Letters, which one’s +Executors and Heirs would make little of, I came upon several of +Morton’s from Italy: so good in Parts that I have copied +those Parts into a Blank Book. When he was in his money +Troubles I did the same from many other of his Letters, and +Thackeray asked Blackwood to give ten pounds for them for his +Magazine. But we heard no more of them.</p> +<p>I have the usual Story to tell of myself: middling well: still +here, pottering about my House, in which I expect an invalid +Niece; and preparing for my Ship <!-- page 77--><a +name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>in +June. William Airy talks of coming to me soon. I am +daily expecting the Death of a Sister in law, a right good +Creature, who I thought would outlive me a dozen years, and +should rejoice if she could. Things look serious about +one. If one only could escape easily and at once! For +<i>I</i> think the Fun is over: but that should not be. May +you flourish in your high Place, my dear Master (now I say) for +this long while.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>June</i>, 1866.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>I won’t say that I should have gone to Ely under any +Circumstances, though it is the last Place I have been to stay at +with a Friend: three years ago! And all my Stays there were +very pleasant indeed: and I do not the less thank you for all +your Constancy and Kindness. But one is got down yet deeper +in one’s Way of Life: of which enough has been said.</p> +<p>William Airy was to have come here about this time: and him I +am obliged to put off because another old Fellow Collegian, +Duncan, <a name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77" +class="citation">[77]</a> who has scarce stirred from his +Dorsetshire Parsonage these twenty years, was seized with a +Passion to see me just once more, he says: and he is now with me: +a Hypochondriack Man, nervous, and restless, with a vast deal of +uncouth Humour. . . .</p> +<p>My Ship is afloat, with a new Irish Ensign; but I <!-- page +78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>have +scarce been about with her yet owing to ‘Mr. Wesley’s +Troubles.’ <a name="citation78a"></a><a href="#footnote78a" +class="citation">[78a]</a></p> +<p>Only yesterday I took down my little Tauchnitz Sophocles to +carry to Sea with me; and made Duncan here read—</p> +<blockquote><p>οποια +χρηζει +ρηyνυτω· +τουμον δ' +εyω, <a name="citation78b"></a><a +href="#footnote78b" class="citation">[78b]</a> etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and began to blubber a little at</p> +<blockquote><p>ω φίλτατ' +Αιyέως παι, +μονοις ου +yίyνεται, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>in the other Great Play. <a name="citation78c"></a><a +href="#footnote78c" class="citation">[78c]</a> The Elgin +Marbles, and something more, began to pass before my Eyes.</p> +<p>I believe I write all this knowing you are at Ely: where I +suppose you are more at Leisure than on your Throne in +Trinity. But no doubt your Tyranny follows you there too; +post Equitem and all.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: Friday<br /> +[<i>June</i>, 1866].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I got your new Address from your Brother a Fortnight +ago. You don’t write to me for the very good reason +that you have so much to do: I don’t write to you because I +have nothing to do, and so nothing to tell you of. My idle +reading all goes down to a few Memoirs and such things: I am not +got down to Miss Braddon and Mrs. Wood yet, and I believe <!-- +page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>never shall: not that I think this a merit: for it would +show more Elasticity of Mind to find out and make something out +of the Genius in them. But it is too late for me to try and +retrace the ‘Salle des pas perdus’ of years; I have +not been very well, and more and more ‘smell the Mould +above the Rose’ as Hood wrote of himself. But I +don’t want to talk of this.</p> +<p>You are very good to talk of sparing a Day for me when you +come down. I will be sure to be at home any Day, or Days, +next week. I can give you Bed and Board as you know: and a +Boat Sail on the River if you like. Why I don’t go +over to you I have written and spoken of enough—all I can, +if not satisfactorily: only don’t think it is indolence, +Neglect, or Distaste for you, or any of yours. . . .</p> +<p>I haven’t, I think, taken in your Sanskrit morsel as +yet, for I am called about this morning on some Furniture +Errands: and yet I want to post this Letter To-day that you may +have it this week.</p> +<p>I still think I shall take a Tauchnitz Sophocles with me to +Sea, once more to read the two Œdipuses, and Philoctetes; +perhaps more carefully than before; perhaps not! It is +stupid not to get up those three noble Pieces as well as one +can.</p> +<p>I have not yet done my house: and, when I write of Furniture, +it is because I want to get so much ready as will suffice for an +Invalid Niece who wishes to come with her Maid by the End of +June, or the Beginning of July. Your old opposite Neighbour +<!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>Mason is my Apollo in these matters: I find him a very +clever Fellow, and so well inclined to me that every one else +says he can scarce make money of what he sells me. He has +<i>humour</i> too.</p> +<p>I think you and Elizabeth should one day come and stay in this +new House, which will be really very pleasant. As far as I +am concerned, I sha’n’t have much to do with it, I +believe; but some one will inherit, and—sell it!</p> +<p>I want you to choose a Lot of my Things to be bequeathed you: +Books, Pictures, Furniture. You mustn’t think I +prematurely deck myself in Sables for my own Funeral; but it +happens that I sent the rough Draft of a Will to my Lawyer only +three days ago.</p> +<p>My Brother John so much wants a Copy of Elizabeth’s +Verses to my Sister Isabella in other Days.</p> +<p>This time twenty years you were going to me at Boulge Cottage: +this time ten years you were preparing for India.</p> +<p>Adieu, Love to the Lady.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>July</i> 27 [1866].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>Your welcome Letter was forwarded to me here To day.</p> +<p><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>I feel sure that the Lady I once saw at the Deanery is +all you say; and you believe of me, as I believe of myself, that +I don’t deal in Compliment, unless under very strong +Compulsion. I suppose, as Master of Trinity you could not +do otherwise than marry, and so keep due State and Hospitality +there: and I do think you could not have found one fitter to +share, and do, the honours. And if (as I also suppose) +there is Love, or Liking, or strong Sympathy, or what not? why, +all looks well. Be it so!</p> +<p>I had not heard of Spedding’s entering into genteel +House-keeping till your Letter told me of it. I suppose he +will be a willing Victim to his Kinsfolk.</p> +<p>A clerical Brother in law of mine has lost his own whole +Fortune in four of these Companies which have gone to +smash. Nor his own only. For, having, when he married +my Sister, insisted on having half her Income tied to him by +Settlement, <i>that</i> half lies under Peril from the +‘Calls’ made upon him as Shareholder.</p> +<blockquote><p>At Genus Humanum damnat Caligo Futuri.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So I, trusting in my Builder’s Honesty, have a Bill sent +in about one third bigger than it should be.</p> +<p>All which rather amuses me, on the whole, though I spit out a +Word now and then: and indeed am getting a Surveyor to overhaul +the Builder: a hopeless Process, I believe all the while.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, I go about in my little Ship, where I do think I +have two honest Fellows to deal with.</p> +<p><!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>We have just been boarding a Woodbridge Vessel that we +met in these Roads, and drinking a Bottle of Blackstrap round +with the Crew.</p> +<p>With me just at present is my Brother Peter, for whose Wife (a +capital Irishwoman, of the Mrs. O’Dowd Type) my Paper is +edged with Black. No one could be a better Husband than he; +no one more attentive and anxious during her last Illness, more +than a year long; and, now all is over, I never saw him in better +Health or Spirits. Men are not inconsolable for elderly +Wives; as Sir Walter Scott, who was not given to caustic +Aphorisms, observed long ago.</p> +<p>When I was sailing about the Isle of Wight, Dorsetshire, etc., +I read my dear old Sophocles again (sometimes omitting the +nonsense-verse Choruses) and thought how much I should have liked +to have them commented along in one of your Lectures. All +that is now over with you: but you will look into the Text now +and then. I have now got Munro’s Lucretius on board +again. Why is it that I never can take up with +Horace—so sensible, elegant, agreeable, and sometimes even +grand?</p> +<p>Some one gave me the July Number of the Cornhill to read the +‘Loss of the London’ in; and very well worth reading +it is. But there is also the Beginning of a Story that I am +sure must be by Annie Thackeray—capital and +wonderful. I forget the name.</p> +<p>Now I won’t finish this Second Sheet—all with <!-- +page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>such Scraps as the foregoing. But do believe how +sincerely and truly I wish you well in your new Venture. +And so I will shut up, my dear Thompson, for the present. +No man can have more reason to wish you a good Return for your +long generous Kindness than your old Friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>August</i> 13/66.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I think you have given me up as a bad Job: and I can’t +blame you. I have been expecting to hear of you in these +parts: though, had it been so, I doubt if I should have been here +to meet you. For the last six weeks I have scarce been at +home; what with sailing to the Isle of Wight, Norfolk Coast, +staying at Lowestoft, etc. And now I am just off again to +the latter place, having only returned here on Saturday. +Nor can I say when I shall be back here for any long while: the +Kerriches are at Lowestoft; and I have yet one or two more +Sea-trips to make before October consigns me once more to Cold, +Indoor Solitude, Melancholy, and Illhealth.</p> +<p>My Companion on board has been Sophocles, as he was three +years ago, I find. I am even now going to hunt up some +one-volume Virgil to take with me. Horace I never can care +about, in spite of his Good Sense, Elegance, and occasional +Force. He never made my Eyes wet as Virgil does.</p> +<p><!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>When I was about Cromer Coast, I was reading +Windham’s Diary: well worth reading, as one of the most +honest; but with little else in it than that. You would +scarcely guess from it that he was a man of any Genius, as yet I +suppose he was.</p> +<p>Somehow I fancy you must be travelling abroad! Else +surely I should have heard something of you. Well: I must +anyhow enclose this Letter, or direct it, to your Mother’s +or Brother’s at Ipswich. Do let me hear of yourself +and Elizabeth, and believe that I do not forget you, nor cease to +be</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours very sincerely<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edward FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>: <i>August</i> 19/66.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I don’t wish you to think I am in Woodbridge all this +while since your Note came. It was forwarded to me here, +where I have been since I wrote to you a week ago. The fact +is, I had promised to return on finding that the Kerriches were +to be here. So, here I am: living on board my little Ship: +sometimes taking them out for a Sail: sometimes accompanying them +in a walk. In other respects, I am very fond of this Place, +which I have known and frequented these forty years; till the +last three years in company with my Sister Kerrich, who has +helped to endear it to me. I believe I shall be here, off +and on, some <!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 85</span>while longer; as my Brother Peter +(who has lately lost a capital Wife) is coming to sail about with +me. Should I be at Woodbridge for some days I will let you +know.</p> +<p>Do you see ‘Squire Allenby,’ as the folks at +Felixtow Ferry call him? If so, ask him why he +doesn’t sometimes sail here with his ship; he would like +it, I fancy: and everybody seems to like him.</p> +<p>Only yesterday I finished reading the Electra. Before +that, Ajax; which is well worth re-reading too. I am sorry +to find I have only Antigone left of all the precious Seven; a +lucid Constellation indeed! I suppose I must try Euripides +after this; some few of his Plays.</p> +<p>This time ten years—a month ago—we were all +lounging about in the hayfield before your Mother’s House +at Rushmere. I do not forget these things: nor cease to +remember them with a sincere, sad, and affectionate interest: the +very sincerity of which prevents me from attempting to recreate +them. This I wish you and yours, who have been so kind to +me, to believe.</p> +<p>I am going to run again to the Coast of Norfolk—as far +as Wells—to wander about Holkham, if the Weather +permit. We have had too much Wind and Wet to make such +excursions agreeable: for, when one reached the Places by Sea, +the Rain prevented one’s going about on Shore to look +about. But now that there has been rather a better look-out +of Weather for the last few Days, and that—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. +86</span>δεινωντ' +αημα +πνευματων +εκοίμισε<br /> +στένοντα +ποντον— <a +name="citation86"></a><a href="#footnote86" +class="citation">[86]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>I shall try again for two or three Days. How do you +translate δεινων here?</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span> +still! <i>Septr.</i> 4 [1866].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Still here, you see! Till the end of last week I had my +Kerrich people here; I am now expecting my Brother Peter again: +he has lately lost his capital Wife, and flies about between +Ireland and England for Company and Diversion of Thought. I +am also expecting Mowbray Donne over from Yarmouth this week.</p> +<p>I wonder if you ever would come over here, and either Bed and +Board in my little Ship, or on Shore? Anyhow, do write me a +line to tell me about yourself—yourselves—and do not +think I am indifferent to you.</p> +<p>I have been reading Euripides (in my way) but, as heretofore +do not take greatly to him. He is always prosy, whereas +(except in the matter of funeral Lamentations, Condolence, etc., +which I suppose the Greek Audience expected—as I suppose +they also expected the little sententious truism at the end of +every Speech), except in these respects, Sophocles always goes +ahead, and makes his Dialogue act in <!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>driving on +the Play. He always makes the most of his Story too: +Euripides not often. A remarkable instance of this is in +his Heraclidæ (one of the better Plays, I think), where +Macaria is to be sacrificed for the common good: but one hears no +more of her: and a fine opportunity is lost when Jocasta <a +name="citation87a"></a><a href="#footnote87a" +class="citation">[87a]</a> insults Eurystheus whom they have +conquered, and is never told that that Conquest is at the cost of +her Grand-daughter’s Life—a piece of Irony which +Sophocles would not have forgotten, I think. I have not yet +read over Rhesus, Hippolytus, Medea, Ion, or the Iphigenias; +altogether, the Phœnissæ is the best of those I have +read; the interview between Jocasta and her two sons, before the +Battle, very good. There is really Humour and Comedy in the +Servant’s Account of Hercules’ conviviality in +Admetus’ House of Mourning. I thought the story of +the Bacchæ poorly told: but some good descriptive +passages.</p> +<p>In the midst of Euripides, I was seized with a Passion to +return to Sophocles, and read the two Œdipuses again. +Oh, how immeasurably superior! In dramatic Construction, +Dialogue, and all! How can they call Euripides +τραyικωτατος, +<a name="citation87b"></a><a href="#footnote87b" +class="citation">[87b]</a> putting a few passages of his against +whole Dramas of the other, who also can show sentence for +sentence more moving than any Euripides wrote.</p> +<p>But I want to read these Plays once with some very accurate +Guide, oral or printed. I mean <!-- page 88--><a +name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Sophocles; I +don’t care to be accurate with the other. Can you +recommend any Edition—not too German? I should write +to Thompson about it; but I suppose he is busy with Marriage +coming on. I mean, the present Master of Trinity, who is +engaged to the widow of Dean Peacock; a very capital Lady to +preside as Queen of Trinity Lodge.</p> +<p>I have also been visiting dear old Virgil; his Georgics, and +the 6th and 8th Books of the Æneid. I could now take +them up and read them both again. Pray look at lines +407-415 of Book VIII—the poor Matron kindling her early +fire—so Georgic! so Virgilian! so unsuited, or +disproportionate, to the Thing it illustrates.</p> +<p>Here is a long Letter—of the old Sort, I suppose. +All these Books come back to me with Summer and the Sea: in +another Month all will be gone together!—I look with Terror +toward Winter, though I have not to encounter one, at any rate, +of the three Giants which old Mrs. Bloomfield said were coming +upon her—Winter, Want, and Sickness. <a +name="citation88"></a><a href="#footnote88" +class="citation">[88]</a></p> +<p>Pray remember me, in spite of all practical Forgetfulness, to +Wife and Friends.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 89--><a +name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span><i>To F. +Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Jan.</i> 29/67.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>Let me hear from you one Day. I would send you my MS. +Book of Morton’s Letters: but I scarce know if the Post +would carry it to you; though not so very big: and I am still +less sure that you would ever return it to me. And what +odds if you didn’t? It might as well die in your +Possession as in mine.</p> +<p>In answer to my yearly Letter to Alfred and Co. I heard (from +Mrs.) that they were about to leave Freshwater, frightened away +by Hero-worshippers, etc., and were going to a Solitude called +Greyshott Hall, Haslemere; which, I am told, is in Hants. +Whether they go to settle there I don’t know. +Lucretius’ Death is thought to be too free-spoken for +Publication, I believe; not so much in a religious, as an +amatory, point of View. I should believe Lucretius more +likely to have expedited his Departure because of Weariness of +Life and Despair of the System, than because of any +Love-philtre. I wrote also my yearly Letter to Carlyle, +begging my compliments to his Wife: who, he replies, died, in a +very tragical way, last April. I have since heard that the +Papers reported all the Circumstances. So, if one lives so +much out of the World as I do, it seems better to give up that +Ghost altogether. Old Spedding has written a Pamphlet about +‘Authors <!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 90</span>and Publishers’; showing up, or +striving to show up, the Publishers’ system. He +adduces his own Edition of Bacon as a sample of their +mismanagement, in respect of too bulky Volumes, etc. But, +as he says, Macaulay and Alison are still bulkier; yet they +sell. The truth is that a solemnly-inaugurated new Edition +of all Bacon was not wanted. The Philosophy is surely +superseded; not a Wilderness of Speddings can give men a new +interest in the Politics and Letters. The Essays will no +doubt always be in request, like Shakespeare. But I am +perhaps not a proper Judge of these high matters. How +should I? who have just, to my great sorrow, finished ‘The +Woman in White’ for the third time, once every last three +Winters. I wish Sir Percival Clyde’s Death were a +little less of the minor Theatre sort; then I would swallow all +the rest as a wonderful Caricature, better than so many a sober +Portrait. I really think of having a Herring-lugger I am +building named ‘Marian Halcombe,’ the brave Girl in +the Story. Yes, a Herring-lugger; which is to pay for the +money she costs unless she goes to the Bottom: and which +meanwhile amuses me to consult about with my Sea-folks. I +go to Lowestoft now and then, by way of salutary Change: and +there smoke a Pipe every night with a delightful Chap, who is to +be Captain. I have been, up to this time, better than for +the last two winters: but feel a Worm in my head now and then, +for all that. You will say, only a Maggot. Well; we +shall see. When I <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>go to Lowestoft, I take Montaigne +with me; very comfortable Company. One of his Consolations +for <i>The Stone</i> is, that it makes one less unwilling to part +with Life. Oh, you think that it didn’t need much +Wisdom to suggest that? Please yourself, Ma’am. +January, just gone! February, only twenty-eight Days: then +March with Light till six p.m.: then April with a blush of Green +on the Whitethorn hedge: then May, Cuckoos, Nightingales, etc.; +then June, Ship launched, and nothing but Ship till November, +which is only just gone. The Story of our Lives from Year +to Year. This is a poor letter: but I won’t set The +Worm fretting. Let me hear how you are: and don’t be +two months before you do so.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Febr.</i> 15 [1867].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>I came home yesterday from a week’s Stay at +Lowestoft. As to the Athenæum, <a +name="citation91"></a><a href="#footnote91" +class="citation">[91]</a> I would bet that the last Sentence was +tacked on by the Editor: for it in some measure contradicts the +earlier part of the Article.</p> +<p>When your letter was put into my hands, I happened to be +reading Montaigne, L. <span class="smcap">ii.</span> Ch. 8, De +l’Art de Conferer, where at the end he refers to <!-- page +92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>Tacitus; the only Book, he says, he had read +consecutively for an hour together for ten years. He does +not say very much: but the Remarks of such a Man are worth many +Cartloads of German Theory of Character, I think: their Philology +I don’t meddle with. I know that Cowell has +discovered they are all wrong in their Sanskrit. Montaigne +never doubts Tacitus’ facts: but doubts his Inferences; +well, if I were sure of his Facts, I would leave others to draw +their Inferences. I mean, if I were Commentator, certainly: +and I think if I were Historian too. Nothing is more +wonderful to me than seeing such Men as Spedding, Carlyle, and I +suppose Froude, straining Fact to Theory as they do, while a +scatter-headed Paddy like myself can keep clear. But then +so does the Mob of Readers. Well, but I believe in the Vox +Populi of two hundred Years: still more, of two thousand. +And, whether we be right or wrong, we prevail: so, however much +wiser are the Builders of Theory, their Labour is but lost who +build: they can’t reason away Richard’s Hump, nor +Cromwell’s Ambition, nor Henry’s Love of a new Wife, +nor Tiberius’ beastliness. Of course, they had all +their Gleams of Goodness: but we of the Mob, if we have any +Theory at all, have that which all Mankind have seen and felt, +and know as surely as Day-light; that Power will tempt and spoil +the Best.</p> +<p>Well, but what is all this Lecture to you for? Why, I +think you rather turn to the re-actionary Party about these old +Heroes. So I say, however <!-- page 93--><a +name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>right you may +be, leave us, the many-headed, if not the wise-headed, to go our +way, only making the Text of Tacitus as clear for us to flounder +about in as you can. That, anyhow, must be the first +Thing. Something of the manners and customs of the Times we +want also: some Lights from other contemporary Authors also: and +then, ‘Gentlemen, you will now consider your Verdict, and +please yourselves.’</p> +<p>Can’t you act on Spedding’s Advice and have your +Prolegomena separate, if considerable in size? I +don’t doubt its Goodness: but you know how, when one wants +to take a Volume of an Author on Travel, Ship-board, etc., how +angry one is with the Life, Commentary, etc., which takes up half +the first volume. This we don’t complain of in George +III. because he is not a Classic, and your Athenæum Critic +admits that yours is the best Part of the Business by far.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Scandal</i>’; <span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>June</i> 17 [1867].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I wrote to Elizabeth, I think, to congratulate you both on the +result of the Election: I have since had your Letter: you will +not want me to repeat what, without my ever having written or +said, you will know that I feel. I wrote to Thompson on the +subject, and have had a very kind Letter from him.</p> +<p><!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>Now you will live at Cambridge among the Learned; but, I +repeat, you would rather live among the Ignorant. However, +your Path is cut out for you: and, to be sure, it is a more +useful and proper one for you than the cool sequestered one which +one might like to travel.</p> +<p>I am here in my little Ship—cool and sequestered enough, +to be sure—with no Company but my Crew of Two, and my +other—Captain of the Lugger now a-building: a Fellow I +never tire of studying—If he <i>should</i> turn out knave, +I shall have done with all Faith in my own Judgment: and if he +should go to the Bottom of the Sea in the Lugger—I +sha’n’t cry for the Lugger.</p> +<p>Well, but I have other Company too—Don Quixote—the +4th Part: where those Snobs, the Duke and Duchess—(how +vulgar Great Folks then, as now!) make a Fool and Butt of +him. Cervantes should have had more respect for his own +Creation: but, I suppose, finding that all the Great Snobs could +only <i>laugh</i> at the earlier part, he thought he had better +humour them. This very morning I read the very verses you +admired to me twenty years ago—</p> +<blockquote><p>Ven muerte tan escondida, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They are quoted ironically in Part <span +class="smcap">iv.</span> Lib. <span class="smcap">vii.</span> Ch. +38.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 95--><a +name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Oct.</i> 12 [1867].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>When you have leisure you will let me know of your being +settled at Cambridge? I also want to have your exact +Address because I want to send you the Dryden and Crabbe’s +Life I promised you. At present you are busy with your +Inaugural Address, I suppose; beside that you feel scarce at home +yet in your new Quarters.</p> +<p>Mr. Allenby told me on Wednesday that Mrs. Charlesworth was +really up again, and even got to Cambridge. Please to +remember me to her, and to all your Party.</p> +<p>My Ship is still afloat: but I have scarce used her during the +last cold weather. I was indeed almost made ill sleeping +two nights in that cold Cabin. I may, however, run to +Lowestoft and back; but by the end of next week I suppose she +(the Ship) will be laid up in the Mud; my Men will have eaten the +Michaelmas Goose which I always regale them with on shutting up +shop; and I may come home to my Fire here to read ‘The +Woman in White’ and play at Patience:—which (I mean +the Game at Cards so called) I now do by myself for an hour or +two every night. Perhaps old Montaigne may drop in to chat +with and comfort me: but Sophocles, Don Quixote, and +Boccaccio—I think I must leave them with their Halo of Sea +and Sunshine about them. I have, however, found the second +volume of <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 96</span>Sophocles; and may perhaps return to +look for Ajax and Deianeira.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Adieu: E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>October</i> 28 [1867],</p> +<p>Now, <span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I have put on a new Goose-quill Nib, on purpose to write my +best MS. to you. But the new Nib has very little to say for +me: the old Story: dodging about in my Ship for these last five +months: indeed during all that time not having lain, I believe, +for three consecutive Nights in Christian Sheets. But now +all that is over: this very day is my little Ship being +dismantled, and to-morrow will she go up to her middle in mud, +and here am I anchored to my old Desk for the Winter; and +beginning, as usual, by writing to my Friends, to tell them what +little there is to tell of myself, and asking them to tell what +they can of themselves in return. I shall even fire a shot +at old Spedding; who would not answer my last Letters at all: +innocent as they were, I am sure: and asking definite Questions, +which he once told me he required if I wanted any Answer. I +suppose he is now in Cumberland. What <i>is</i> become of +Bacon? Are you one of the Converted, who go the whole +Hog?</p> +<p>Thompson—no, I mean the Master of Trinity—has +replied to my half-yearly Enquiries in a very <!-- page 97--><a +name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>kind +Letter. He tells me that my friend Edward Cowell has +pleased all the Audience he had with an inaugural Lecture about +Sanskrit. <a name="citation97a"></a><a href="#footnote97a" +class="citation">[97a]</a> Also, that there is such an +Article in the Quarterly about the Talmud <a +name="citation97b"></a><a href="#footnote97b" +class="citation">[97b]</a> as has not been seen (so fine an +Article, I mean) for years. I have had Don Quixote, +Boccaccio, and my dear Sophocles (once more) for company on +board: the first of these so delightful, that I got to love the +very Dictionary in which I had to look out the words: yes, and +often the same words over and over again. The Book really +seemed to me the most delightful of all Books: Boccaccio, +delightful too, but millions of miles behind; in fact, a whole +Planet away.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. A. Wright</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Dec.</i> 11 [1867].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>When Robert Groome was with me a month ago, I was speaking to +him of having found some Bacon in Montaigne: and R. G. told me +that you had observed the same, and were indeed collecting some +instances; I think, quotations from Seneca, so employed as to +prove that Bacon had them from the Frenchman. It has been +the fashion of late to scoff at Seneca; whom such men as Bacon +and Montaigne quoted: perhaps not Seneca’s own, but cribbed +from some Greek which would have been admired by those who scoff +at the Latin.</p> +<p><!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>I had not noticed this Seneca coincidence: but I had +observed a few passages of Montaigne’s own, which seemed to +me to have got into Bacon’s Essays. I dare say I +couldn’t light upon all these now; but, having been turning +over Essai 9, Lib. <span class="smcap">iii.</span> De la +Vanité, I find one sentence which comes to the point: +‘Car parfois c’est bien choisir de ne choisir +pas.’ In the same Essay is a piece of King Lear, +perhaps; ‘De ce mesme papier où il vient +d’escrire l’arrest de condemnation contre un +Adultere, le Juge en desrobe un lopin pour en faire un poulet +à la femme de son compaignon.’ One +doesn’t talk of such things as of plagiarisms, of course; +as if Bacon and Shakespeare couldn’t have said much better +things themselves; only for the pleasure of tracing where they +read, and what they were struck by. I see that +‘L’Appetit vient en mangeant’ is in the same +Essay.</p> +<p>If I light some other day on the other passages, I will take +the liberty of telling you. You see I have already taken +the liberty of writing to a man, not unknown to me in several +ways, but with whom I have not the pleasure of being acquainted +personally. Perhaps I may have that pleasure one of these +days; we are both connected with the same town of Beccles, and +may come together. I hope so.</p> +<p>But I have also another reason for writing to you. Your +‘Master’ wrote me word the other day, among other +things, that you as well as he wished for my own noble works in +your Library. I quite understand that this is on the ground +of my being a <!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 99</span>Trinity man. But then one +should have done something worthy of ever so little a niche in +Trinity Library; and that I do know is not my case. I have +several times told the Master what I think, and know, of my small +Escapades in print; nice little things, some of them, which may +interest a few people (mostly friends, or through friends) for a +few years. But I am always a little ashamed of having made +my leisure and idleness the means of putting myself forward in +print, when really so many much better people keep silent, having +other work to do. This is, I know, my sincere feeling on +the subject. However, as I think some of the Translations I +have done are all I can dare to show, and as it would be making +too much fuss to wait for any further asking on the subject, I +will send them if you think good one of these days all done up +together; the Spanish, at least, which are, I think, all of a +size. Will you tell the Master so if you happen to see him +and mention the subject? Allow me to end by writing myself +yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">12 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>Dec.</i> 28 [1867].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I don’t think I told you about Garcin de +Tassy. He sent me (as no doubt he sent you) his annual +Oration. I wrote to thank him: and said I <!-- page +100--><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>had been lately busy with another countryman of his, +Mons. Nicolas, with his Omar Khayyám. On which De +Tassy writes back by return of post to ask ‘Where I got my +Copy of Nicolas? He had not been able to get one in all +Paris!’ So I wrote to Quaritch: who told me the Book +was to be had of Maisonneuve, or any Oriental Bookseller in +Paris; but that probably the Shopman did not understand, when +‘<i>Les Rubáiyát d’Omar</i>, +etc.,’ were asked for, that it meant ‘<i>Les +Quatrains</i>, etc.’ This (which I doubt not is the +solution of the Mystery) I wrote to Garcin: at the same time +offering one of my two Copies. By return of Post comes a +frank acceptance of one of the Copies; and his own Translation of +Attár’s Birds by way of equivalent. +τοιονδ' +απέβη τοδε +πραyγμα. Well, as I got these +Birds just as I was starting here, I brought them with me, and +looked them over. Here, at Lowestoft, in this same row of +houses, two doors off, I was writing out the Translation I made +in the Winter of 1859. I have scarce looked at Original or +Translation since. But I was struck by this; that eight +years had made little or no alteration in my idea of the matter: +it seemed to me that I really had brought in nearly all worth +remembering, and had really condensed the whole into a much +compacter Image than the original. This is what I think I +can do, with such discursive things: such as all the Oriental +things I have seen are. I remember you thought that I had +lost the Apologues towards the close; but I believe <!-- page +101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>I +was right in excluding them, as the narrative grew dramatic and +neared the Catastrophe. Also, it is much better to glance +at the dangers of the Valley when the Birds are in it, than to +let the Leader recount them before: which is not good policy, +morally or dramatically. When I say all this, you need not +suppose that I am vindicating the Translation as a Piece of +Verse. I remember thinking it from the first rather +disagreeable than not: though with some good parts. Jam +satis.</p> +<p>There is a pretty story, which seems as if it really happened +(p. 201 of De Tassy’s Translation, referring to v. 3581 of +the original), of the Boy falling into a well, and on being taken +out senseless, the Father asking him to say but a word; and then, +but one word more: which the Boy says and dies. And at p. +256, Translation (v. 4620), I read, ‘Lorsque Nizâm +ul-mulk fut à l’agonie, il dit: “O mon Dieu, +je m’en vais entre les mains du vent.”’ +Here is our Omar in his Friend’s mouth, is it not?</p> +<p>I have come here to wind up accounts for our Herring-lugger: +much against us, as the season has been a bad one. My dear +Captain, who looks in his Cottage like King Alfred in the Story, +was rather saddened by all this, as he had prophesied better +things. I tell him that if he is but what I think +him—and surely my sixty years of considering men will not +so deceive me at last!—I would rather lose money with him +than gain it with others. Indeed I never proposed Gain, as +you may imagine: but only <!-- page 102--><a +name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>to have +some Interest with this dear Fellow. Happy New Year to you +Both!</p> +<p>I wish you would have Semelet’s Gulistan which I +have. You know I never cared for Sadi.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan</i>: 9/68.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I saw advertised in my old Athenæum a Review <a +name="citation102"></a><a href="#footnote102" +class="citation">[102]</a> of Richardson’s Novels in the +January Cornhill. So I bought it: and began to think you +might have written it: but was not so assured as I went on. +It is however very good, in my opinion, whoever did it: though I +don’t think it does all justice to the interminable +Original. When the Writer talks of Grandison and Clarissa +being the two Characters—oh, Lovelace himself should have +made the third: if unnatural (as the Reviewer says), yet not the +less wonderful: quite beyond and above anything in +Fielding. Whether you wrote the article or not, I know you +are one of the few who have read the Book. The Reviewer +admits that it might be abridged; I am convinced of that, and +have done it for my own satisfaction: but you thought this was +not to be done. So here is internal proof that you +didn’t write what Thackeray used to call the +‘<i>Hurticle</i>,’ or that you have changed your mind +on that score. But you haven’t. But I <!-- page +103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>know better, Lord bless you: and am sure I could (with +a pair of Scissors) launch old Richardson again: we +shouldn’t go off the stocks easy (pardon nautical +metaphors), but stick by the way, amid the jeers of Reviewers who +had never read the original: but we should float at last. +Only I don’t want to spend a lot of money to be hooted at, +without having time to wait for the floating.</p> +<p>I have spent lots of money on my Herring-lugger, which has +made but a poor Season. So now we are going (like wise men) +to lay out a lot more for Mackerel; and my Captain (a dear +Fellow) is got ill, which is much worst of all: so hey for +1868! Which is wishing you better luck next time, Sir, +etc.</p> +<p>Spedding at last found and sent me his delightful little Paper +about Twelfth Night. I was glad to be set right about +Viola: but I think he makes too much of the whole play, +‘finest of Comedies,’ etc. It seems to me quite +a light, slight, sketch—for Twelfth Night—What you +will, etc. What else does the Name mean? Have I +uttered these Impieties! No more! Nameless as +shameless.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>May</i> 28/68.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I was just about to post you your own Calcutta Review when +your Letter came, asking about some Euphranors. Oh +yes! I have a Lot of them: <!-- page 104--><a +name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>returned +from Parker’s when they were going to dissolve their House; +I would not be at the Bother of any further negociation with any +other Bookseller, about half a dozen little Books which so few +wanted: so had them all sent here. I will therefore send +you six copies. I had supposed that you didn’t like +the second Edition so well as the first: and had a suspicion +myself that, though I improved it in some respects, I had done +more harm than good: and so I have never had courage to look into +it since I sent it to you at Oxford. Perhaps Tennyson <a +name="citation104"></a><a href="#footnote104" +class="citation">[104]</a> only praised the first Edition and I +don’t know where to lay my hands on that. I wonder he +should have thought twice about it. Not but I think the +Truth is told: only, a Truth every one knows! And told in a +shape of Dialogue really something Platonic: but I doubt rather +affectedly too. However, such as it is, I send it +you. I remember being anxious about it twenty years ago, +because I thought it was the Truth (as if my telling it could +mend the matter!): and I cannot but think that the Generation +that has grown up in these twenty years has not profited by the +Fifty Thousand Copies of this great work!</p> +<p>I am sorry to trouble you about Macmillan; I should not have +done so had I kept my Copy with your corrections as well as my +own. As Lamb said of himself, so I say; that I never had +any Luck with <!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 105</span>printing: I certainly don’t +mean that I have had much cause to complain: but, for instance, I +know that Livy and Napier, put into good Verse, are just worth a +corner in one of the swarm of Shilling Monthlies. <a +name="citation105"></a><a href="#footnote105" +class="citation">[105]</a></p> +<p>‘Locksley Hall’ is far more like Lucretius than +the last Verses put into his mouth by A. T. But, once get a +Name in England, and you may do anything. But I dare say +that wise men too, like Spedding, will be of the same mind with +the Times Critic. (I have not seen him.) What does Thompson +say? You, I, and John Allen, are among the few, I do say, +who, having a good natural Insight, maintain it undimmed by +public, or private, Regards.</p> +<p>P.S. Having consulted my Landlord, I find that I can pay +carriage all through to Cambridge. Therefore it is that I +send you, not only your own Book, and my own, but also one of the +genteel copies of Boswell’s Johnson; and Wesley’s +Journal: both of which I gave you, only never sent! Now +they shall go. Wesley, you will find pleasant to dip into, +I think: of course, there is much sameness; and I think you will +allow some absurdity among so much wise and good. I am +almost sorry that I have not noted down on the fly-leaf some of +the more remarkable Entries, as I have in my own Copy. If +you have not read the little Autobiography of Wesley’s +Disciple, John Nelson, give a shilling for it. It <!-- page +106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>seems to me something wonderful to read these Books, +written in a Style that cannot alter, because natural; while the +Model Writers, Addison, Johnson, etc., have had their Day. +Dryden holds, I think: he did not set up for a Model Prose +man. Sir T. Browne’s Style is natural to him, one +feels.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Felixtow +Ferry</span>: <i>July</i> 25 [1868.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I found your Letter on reaching Woodbridge yesterday; where +you see I did not stay long. In fact I only left Lowestoft +partly to avoid a Volunteer Camp there which filled the Town with +People and Bustle: and partly that my Captain might see his Wife: +who cannot last <i>very</i> much longer I think: scarcely through +Autumn, surely. She goes about, nurses her children, etc., +but grows visibly thinner, weaker, and more ailing.</p> +<p>If the Wind changes (now directly in our Teeth) I shall sail +back to Lowestoft to-morrow. Thompson and Mrs. T. propose +to be at the Royal Hotel there till Wednesday, and we wish, I +believe, to see each other again. Sailing did not agree +with his bilious temperament: and he seemed to me injudicious in +his hours of Exercise, Dinner, etc. But he, and she, should +know best. I like her very much: head and heart right +feminine of the best, it seemed to me: and her experience of the +World, and the Wits, not having injured either.</p> +<p><!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>I only wanted Macmillan to return the Verses <a +name="citation107"></a><a href="#footnote107" +class="citation">[107]</a> if he wouldn’t use them, because +of my having no corrected Copy of them.</p> +<p>I see in the last Athenæum a new ‘<i>and +revised</i>’ Edition of Clarissa advertised. I +suppose this ‘revised’ does not mean +‘abridged,’ without which the Book will <i>not</i> +permanently make way, as I believe. That, you know, I +wanted to do: could do: and nearly have done;—But that, and +my Crabbe, I must leave for my Executors and Heirs to consign to +Lumber-room, or fire.</p> +<p>Pray let me hear of your movements, especially such as tend +hitherward. About September—Alas!—I think we +shall be a good Deal here, or at Woodbridge; probably not so much +before that time.</p> +<p>Ever yours and Lady’s, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>March</i> 1/69.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . My Lugger Captain has just left me to go on his Mackerel +Voyage to the Western Coast; and I don’t know when I shall +see him again. Just after he went, a muffled bell from the +Church here began to toll for somebody’s death: it sounded +like a Bell under the sea. He sat listening to the Hymn +played by the Church chimes last evening, and said he could hear +it all as if in Lowestoft Church when he was a Boy, ‘Jesus +our Deliverer!’ You can’t think what a grand, +tender, Soul this is, lodged in a suitable carcase.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 108--><a +name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span><i>To Mrs. +W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1869.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>(I must get a new Pen for you—which doesn’t +promise to act as well as the old one—Try another.)</p> +<p>Dear Mrs. Thompson—Mistress of Trinity—(this does +better)—</p> +<p>I am both sorry, and glad, that you wrote me the Letter you +have written to me: sorry, because I think it was an effort to +you, disabled as you are; and glad, I need not say why.</p> +<p>I despatched Spedding’s letter to your Master yesterday; +I daresay you have read it: for there was nothing extraordinary +wicked in it. But, he to talk of <i>my</i> perversity! . . +.</p> +<p>My Sir Joshua is a darling. A pretty young Woman +(‘Girl’ I won’t call her) sitting with a +turtle-dove in her lap, while its mate is supposed to be flying +down to it from the window. I say ‘supposed,’ +for Sir J. who didn’t know much of the drawing of Birds, +any more than of Men and Women, has made a thing like a stuffed +Bird clawing down like a Parrot. But then, the Colour, the +Dove-colour, subdued so as to carry off the richer tints of the +dear Girl’s dress; and she, too, pensive, not sentimental: +a Lady, as her Painter was a Gentleman. Faded as it is in +the face (the Lake, which he would use, having partially flown), +it is one of the most beautiful things of his I have seen: more +<!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>varied in colour; not the simple cream-white dress he +was fond of, but with a light gold-threaded Scarf, a blue sash, a +green chair, etc. . . .</p> +<p>I was rather taken aback by the Master’s having +discovered my last—yes, and bonâ-fide my +last—translation in the volume I sent to your +Library. I thought it would slip in unobserved, and I +should have given all my little contributions to my old College, +without after-reckoning. Had I known you as the Wife of any +but the ‘quondam’ Greek Professor, I should very +likely have sent it to you: since it was meant for those who +might wish for some insight into a Play <a +name="citation109"></a><a href="#footnote109" +class="citation">[109]</a> which I must think they can scarcely +have been tempted into before by any previous Translation. +It remains to be much better done; but if Women of Sense and +Taste, and Men of Sense and Taste (who don’t know Greek) +can read, and be interested in such a glimpse as I give them of +the Original, they must be content, and not look the Horse too +close in the mouth, till a better comes to hand.</p> +<p>My Lugger has had (along with her neighbours) such a Season +hitherto of Winds as no one remembers. We made £450 +in the North Sea; and (just for fun) I did wish to realize +£5 in my Pocket. But my Captain would take it all to +pay Bills. But if he makes another £400 this Home +Voyage! Oh, then we shall have money in our Pockets. +I do wish this. For the anxiety about all these +People’s lives <!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 110</span>has been so much more to me than all +the amusement I have got from the Business, that I think I will +draw out of it if I can see my Captain sufficiently firm on his +legs to carry it on alone. True, there will then be the +same risk to him and his ten men, but they don’t care; only +I sit here listening to the Winds in the Chimney, and always +thinking of the Eleven hanging at my own fingers’ ends.</p> +<p>This Letter is all desperately about me and mine, Translations +and Ships. And now I am going to walk in <i>my</i> Garden: +and feed <i>my</i> Captain’s Pony with white Carrots; and +in the Evening have <i>my</i> Lad come and read for an hour and a +half (he stumbles at every third word, and gets dreadfully tired, +and so do I; but I renovate him with Cake and Sweet Wine), and I +can’t just now smoke the Pipe nor drink the Grog. +‘These are my Troubles, Mr. Wesley;’ <a +name="citation110"></a><a href="#footnote110" +class="citation">[110]</a> but I am still the Master’s and +Mistress’ loyal Servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 111--><a +name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span><i>To E. B. +Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: Tuesday,<br /> +[28 <i>Dec.</i> 1869.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Your Letter to day was a real pleasure—nay, a +comfort—to me. For I had begun to think that, for +whatever reason, you had dropt me; and I know not one of all my +friends whom I could less afford to lose.</p> +<p>You anticipate rightly all I think of the new Idylls. <a +name="citation111"></a><a href="#footnote111" +class="citation">[111]</a> I had bought the Book at +Lowestoft: and when I returned here for Christmas found that A. +T.’s Publisher had sent me a Copy. As I suppose this +was done by A. T.’s order, I have written to acknowledge +the Gift, and to tell him something, if not all, of what I think +of them. I do not tell him that I think his hand weakened; +but I tell him (what is very true) that, though the main Myth of +King Arthur’s Dynasty in Britain has a certain Grandeur in +my Eyes, the several legendary fragments of it never did much +interest me; excepting the <i>Morte</i>, which I suppose most +interested him also, as he took it up first of all. I am +not sure if such a Romance as Arthur’s is not best told in +the artless old English in which it was told to Arthur’s +artless successors four hundred years ago; or dished up anew in +something of a Ballad Style like his own Lady of Shalott, rather +than elaborated into a modern <!-- page 112--><a +name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>Epic +form. I never cared, however, for <i>any</i> chivalric +Epic; neither Tasso, nor Spenser, nor even Ariosto, whose Epic +has a sort of Ballad-humour in it; Don Quixote is the only one of +all this sort I have ever cared for.</p> +<p>I certainly wish that Alfred had devoted his diminished powers +to translating Sophocles, or Æschylus, as I fancy a Poet +should do—<i>one</i> work, at any rate—of his great +Predecessors. But Pegasus won’t be harnessed.</p> +<p>From which I descend to my own humble feet. I will send +you some copies of Calderon when I have uncloseted and corrected +them. As to Agamemnon, I bound up a Copy of him in the +other Translations I sent to Trinity Library—not very +wisely, I doubt; but I thought the Book would just be put up on +its shelf, and I had given all I was asked for, or ever could be +asked for. The Master, however, wrote me that it came to +his Eyes, and I dare say he thought I had best have let +Æschylus alone. My Version was not intended for those +who know the Original; but, by hook or by crook, to interest some +who do not. The <i>Shape</i> I have wrought the Play into +is good, I think: the Dialogue good also: but the Choruses +(though well contrived for the progress of the Story) are very +false to Æschylus; and anyhow want the hand of a +Poet. Mine, as I said, are only a sort of +‘Entr’ acte’ Music, which would be better +supplied by Music itself.</p> +<p>I will send you in a day or two my Christmas <!-- page +113--><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>Gossip for the East Anglian, where I am more at +home. But you have heard me tell it all before.</p> +<p>It is too late to wish you a good Christmas—(I wonder +how you passed it, mine was solitary and dull enough) but you +know I wish you all the Good the New Year can bring. Love +to Elizabeth; do not be so long without writing again, if only +half a dozen lines, to yours and hers sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +hill</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 13/70.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>Can you tell me (in a line) how I should treat some old +Pictures of mine which have somehow got rusty with the mixt damp +and then fires (I suppose) of my new house, which, after being +built at near double its proper cost, is just what I do not want, +according to the usage of the Ballyblunder Family, of which I am +a very legitimate offshoot?</p> +<p>If you were down here, I think I should make you take a +life-size Oil Sketch of the Head and Shoulders of my Captain of +the Lugger. You see by the enclosed that these are neither +of them of a bad sort: and the Man’s Soul is every way as +well proportioned, missing in nothing that may become A Man, as I +believe. He and I will, I doubt, part Company; well as he +likes me, which is perhaps as well as a sailor cares for any one +but Wife and <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 114</span>Children: he likes to be, what he is +born to be, his own sole Master, of himself, and of other +men. So now I have got him a fair start, I think he will +carry on the Lugger alone: I shall miss my Hobby, which is no +doubt the last I shall ride in this world: but I shall also get +eased of some Anxiety about the lives of a Crew for which I now +feel responsible. And this last has been a Year of great +Anxiety in this respect.</p> +<p>I had to run to London for one day about my Eyes (which, you +see by my MS., are not in prime order at all) and saw a Sir +Joshua at a Framer’s window, and brought it down. The +face faded, but elegant and lady-like always; the dress in colour +quite Venetian. It was in Leicester Square; I can’t +think how all the world of Virtuosos kept passing and would not +give twenty pounds for it. But you don’t rate Sir +Joshua in comparison with Gainsboro’.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Jan.</i> 20/70.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . My Captain lives at Lowestoft, and is there at present: +he also in anxiety about his Wife who was brought to bed the very +same day my Landlady died, and (as a letter from him this morning +tells me) has a hard time of it. I should certainly like a +large Oil-sketch, like Thackeray’s, done in your most +hasty, and worst, style, to hang up with Thackeray and Tennyson, +with whom he shares a certain Grandeur of Soul and Body. As +you guess, the <!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 115</span>colouring is (when the Man is all +well) as fine as his form: the finest Saxon type: with that +complexion which Montaigne calls ‘vif, mâle, et +flamboyant’; blue eyes; and strictly auburn hair, that any +woman might sigh to possess. He says it is coming off, as +it sometimes does from those who are constantly wearing the close +hot Sou’westers. We must see what can be done about a +Sketch.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>February</i> 27 [1870].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I came here a few days ago, for the benefit of my old +Doctor, The Sea, and my Captain’s Company, which is as +good. He has not yet got his new Lugger home; but will do +so this week, I hope; and then the way for us will be somewhat +clearer.</p> +<p>If you sketch in a head, you might send it down to me to look +at, so as I might be able to guess if there were any likelihood +in that way of proceeding. Merely the Lines of Feature +indicated, even by Chalk, might do. As I told you, the Head +is of the large type, or size, the proper Capital of a six foot +Body, of the broad dimensions you see in the Photograph. +The fine shape of the Nose, less than Roman, and more than Greek, +scarce appears in the Photograph; the Eye, and its delicate +Eyelash, of course will remain to be made out; and I think you +excel in the Eye.</p> +<p>When I get home (which I shall do this week) I <!-- page +116--><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>will send you two little Papers about the Sea words and +Phrases used hereabout, <a name="citation116a"></a><a +href="#footnote116a" class="citation">[116a]</a> for which this +Man (quite unconsciously) is my main Authority. You will +see in them a little of his simplicity of Soul; but not the +Justice of Thought, Tenderness of Nature, and all the other good +Gifts which make him a Gentleman of Nature’s grandest +Type.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Suffolk +Hotel</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>August</i> +2/70.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . The Lugger is now preparing in the Harbour beside me; +the Captain here, there, and everywhere; with a word for no one +but on business; the other side of the Man you saw looking for +Birds’ Nests; all things in their season. I am sure +the Man is fit to be King of a Kingdom as well as of a +Lugger. To-day he gives the customary Dinner to his Crew +before starting, and my own two men go to it; and I am asked too: +but will not spoil the Fun.</p> +<p>I declare, you and I have seen A Man! Have we not? +Made in the mould of what Humanity should be, Body and Soul, a +poor Fisherman. The proud Fellow had better have kept me +for a Partner in some of his responsibilities. <a +name="citation116b"></a><a href="#footnote116b" +class="citation">[116b]</a> But no; he must rule alone, as +is right he should too.</p> +<p>I date from the Inn where my Letters are <!-- page 117--><a +name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>addressed; +but I write in the little Ship which I live in. My Nieces +are now here; in the town, I mean; and my friend Cowell and his +Wife; so I have more company than all the rest of the year. +I try to shut my Eyes and Ears against all tidings of this +damnable War, seeing that I can do no good to others by +distressing myself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Bridgewood</span>, <i>Nov.</i> 1, [1870].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I must say that my savageness against France goes no further +than wishing that the new and gay part of Paris were battered +down; not the poor working part, no, nor any of the People +destroyed. But I wish ornamental Paris down, because then I +think the French would be kept quiet till they had rebuilt +it. For what would France be without a splendid +Palace? I should not wish any such Catastrophe, however, if +Paris were now as I remember it: with a lot of old historic +houses in it, old Gardens, etc., which I am told are now made +away with. Only Notre Dame, the Tuileries, and perhaps the +beautiful gilt Dome of the Invalides do I care for. They +are historical and beautiful too.</p> +<p>But I believe it would be a good thing if the rest of Europe +would take possession of France itself, and rule it for better or +worse, leaving the French themselves to amuse and enlighten the +world by their <!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 118</span>Books, Plays, Songs, Bon Mots, and +all the Arts and Sciences which they are so ingenious in. +They can do all things but manage themselves and live at peace +with others: and they should themselves be glad to have their +volatile Spirits kept in order by the Good Sense and Honesty +which other Nations certainly abound in more than themselves. <a +name="citation118a"></a><a href="#footnote118a" +class="citation">[118a]</a></p> +<p>I see what I think very good remarks about them in old +Palmerston’s Papers quoted in my Athenæum. <a +name="citation118b"></a><a href="#footnote118b" +class="citation">[118b]</a> He was just the Man they +wanted, I think.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Nov.</i> 15, [1870].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Ah, I should like to hear Fidelio again, often as I have +heard it. I do not find so much ‘Melody’ in it +as you do: understanding by Melody that which asserts itself +independently of Harmony, as Mozart’s Airs do. I miss +it especially in Leonora’s Hope song. But, what with +the story itself, and the Passion and Power of the Music it is +set to, the Opera is one of those that one can hear repeated as +often as any.</p> +<p><!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>If any one ever would take a good suggestion from me, +you might suggest to Mr. Sullivan, or some competent Musician, to +adapt that Epilogue part of Tennyson’s King Arthur, +beginning—</p> +<blockquote><p>And so to bed; where yet in sleep I +seem’d<br /> +To sail with Arthur, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>down to</p> +<blockquote><p>And War shall be no more—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>to adapt this, I say, to the Music of that grand last Scene in +Fidelio: Sullivan & Co. supplying the introductory +Recitative; beginning dreamily, and increasing, crescendo, up to +where the Poet begins to ‘feel the truth and Stir of +Day’; till Beethoven’s pompous March should begin, +and the Chorus, with ‘Arthur is come, etc.’; the +chief Voices raising the words aloft (as they do in Fidelio), and +the Chorus thundering in upon them. It is very grand in +Fidelio: and I am persuaded might have a grand effect in this +Poem. But no one will do it, of course; especially in these +Days when War is so far from being no more!</p> +<p>I want to hear Cherubini’s Medea, which I dare say I +should find masterly and dull. I quite agree with you about +the Italians: Mozart the only exception; who is all in all.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Dec.</i> 5/70.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Had not Sunday followed Saturday I was a little tempted +to run up to hear Cherubini’s Medea, <!-- page 120--><a +name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>which I saw +advertised for the Night. But I believe I should feel +strange at a Play now: and probably should not have sat the Opera +half out. So you have a good Play, <a +name="citation120"></a><a href="#footnote120" +class="citation">[120]</a> and that well acted, at last, on +English Boards! At the old Haymarket, I think: the +pleasantest of all the Theatres (for size and Decoration) that I +remember; yes, and for the Listons and Vestrises that I remember +there in the days of their Glory. Vestris, in what was +called a ‘Pamela Hat’ with a red feather; and, again, +singing ‘Cherry Ripe,’ one of the Dozen immortal +English Tunes. That was in ‘Paul Pry.’ +Poor Plays they were, to be sure: but the Players were good and +handsome, and—oneself was young—1822-3! There +was Macready’s Virginius at old Covent Garden, an event +never to be forgotten.</p> +<p>One Date leads to another. In talking one day about +different Quotations which get abroad without people always +knowing whence they are derived, I could have sworn that I +remember Spring Rice mentioning one that he himself had invented, +and had been amused at seeing quoted here and there—</p> +<blockquote><p>Coldly correct and critically dull.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now only last night I happened to see the Line quoted in the +Preface to Frederick Reynolds’ (the Playwright’s) +stupid Memoirs, published in 1827; <!-- page 121--><a +name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>some time +before Spring Rice would have thought of such things, I suppose. +. . .</p> +<p>What Plays Reynolds’ were, which made George III. laugh +so, and put £500 apiece into the writer’s +Pocket! But then there were Lewis, Quick, Kemble, Edwin, +Parsons, Palmer, Mrs. Jordan, etc. to act them.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Jan.</i> 22, [1871].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>My acquaintance with Spanish, as with other Literature, is +almost confined to its Fiction; and of that I have read nothing +to care about except Don Quixote and Calderon. The first is +well worth learning Spanish for. When I began reading the +Language more than twenty years ago, with Cowell who taught me +nearly all I know, I tried some of the other Dramatists, Tirso de +Molina, Lope de Vega, Moratin, etc., but could take but little +interest in them. All Calderon’s, I think, have +something beautiful in them: and about a score of them altogether +bear reading again, and will be remembered if read but +once. But Don Quixote is <i>the</i> Book, as you know; to +be fully read, I believe, in no language but its own, though +delightful in any. You know as well as I that Spanish +History has a good name; Mariana’s for one: and one makes +sure that the Language, at any rate, must be suitable to relate +great Things with. But I do not meddle with History.</p> +<p><!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>There are very good Selections from the Spanish Dramas +published in good large-type Octavo by Don Ochoa, printed (I +think) by Baudry, in Paris. There is one volume of +Calderon; one of Lopé, I believe: and one or two made up +of other Playwrights. These Books are very easily got at +any foreign Bookseller’s.</p> +<p>An Artist <a name="citation122a"></a><a href="#footnote122a" +class="citation">[122a]</a> to whom I have lent my house for a +while has been teaching me ‘Spanish Dominoes,’ a very +good Game. He, and I, and the Captain whose Photo I sent +you (did I not?) had a grand bout with it the other day. If +I went about in Company again I think I should do as old Rossini +did, carry a Box of Dominoes, or pack of Cards, which I think +would set Conversation at ease by giving people something easy to +do beside conversing. I say Rossini did this; but I only +know of his doing it once, at Trouville, where F. Hiller met him, +who has published the Conversations they had together.</p> +<p>Did you lead the very curious Paper in the Cornhill, <a +name="citation122b"></a><a href="#footnote122b" +class="citation">[122b]</a> a year back, I think, concerning the +vext question of Mozart’s Requiem? It is curious as a +piece of Evidence, irrespective of any musical Interest. +Evidence, I believe, would compel a Law Court to decide that the +Requiem was mainly, not Mozart’s, but his pupil +Süssmayer’s. And perhaps the Law Court might +justly so decide, if by <!-- page 123--><a +name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>‘mainly’ one understood the more technical +business of filling up the ideas suggested by the Master. +But then those ideas are just everything; and no Court of Musical +Equity but would decide, against all other Evidence, that those +ideas were Mozart’s. It is known that he was +instructing Süssmayer, almost with his last breath, about +some drum accompaniments to the Requiem; and I have no doubt, +hummed over the subjects, or melodies, of all.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Feb.</i> 1, [1871],</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Master</span>,</p> +<p>The Gorgias duly came last week, thank you: and I write rather +earlier than I should otherwise have done to satisfy you on that +point. Otherwise, I say, I should have waited awhile till I +had gone over all the Notes more carefully, with some of the +sweet-looking Text belonging to them; which would have taken some +time, as my Eyes have not been in good trim of late, whether from +the Snow on the Ground, and the murky Air all about one, or +because of the Eyes themselves being two years older than when +they got hurt by Paraffin.</p> +<p>The Introduction I have read twice, and find it quite +excellently written. Surely I miss some—ay, more than +some—of the Proof you sent me <!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>two years +ago; some of the Argument to prove the relation between this +Dialogue and the Republic, and consequently of the Date that must +be assigned to it. All that interested me then as it does +now, and I would rather have seen the Introduction all the longer +by it. Perhaps, however, I am confounding my remembrances +of the Date question (which of course follows from the matter) +with the Phædrus Introduction.</p> +<p>Then as to what I have seen of the Notes: they seem to me as +good as can be. I do not read modern Scholars, and +therefore do not know how generally the Style of English +Note-writing may be [different] from that of the Latin one was +used to. But your Notes, I know, seem excellent to me; I +mean, in the Style of them (for of the Scholarship I am not a +proper Judge); totally without pedantry of any sort, whether of +solving unnecessary difficulties, carping at other Critics, etc., +but plainly determined to explain what needs explanation in the +shortest, clearest, way, and in a Style which is most of all +suited to the purpose, ‘familiar but by no means +vulgar,’ such as we have known in such cases, whether in +Latin or English. My Quotation reminds me of yours: how +sparingly, and always just to the point, introduced; Polus +‘gambolling’ from the Theme: old Wordsworth’s +Robin Hood, etc. And the paraphrases you give of the Greek +are so just the thing. I have not read Vaughan’s (?) +Translation <!-- page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 125</span>of the Republic; which I am told is +good. But this I know that I never met with any readable +Translation of Plato. Whewell’s was +intolerable. You should have translated—(that is, +paraphrased, for however far some People may err on this score, +rushing in where Scholars fear to tread) a Translation must be +Paraphrase to be readable; and especially in these Dialogues +where the familiar Grace of the Narrative and Conversation is so +charming a vehicle of the Philosophy. If people will +conscientiously translate ω +βέλτιστε ‘Oh +most excellent man,’ when perhaps ‘My good +Fellow’ was the thing meant, and ‘By the Dog!’ +and so on, why, it is not English talk, and probably not Greek +either. I say you should have, or should translate one or +two Dialogues to show how they should be done; if no longer than +the Lysis, or one of those small and sweet ones which I believe +the Germans disclaim for Plato’s.</p> +<p>‘The Dog’ however does need a Note, as I suppose +that, however far-fetched Olympiodorus’ suggestion, this +was an Oath familiar to Socrates alone, and which he took up for +some, perhaps whimsical, reason. It is not to be found (is +it?) in Aristophanes, where I suppose all the common Oaths come +in; but then again I wonder that, if it were Socrates’ +Oath, it did not find its way into the Clouds, or perhaps into +the criminal Charge against Socrates, as being a sort of mystical +or scoffing Blasphemy.</p> +<p><!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>I am afraid I tire you more with my Letter than you +tired me with your Introduction, a good deal. And you see, +to your cost, that my MS. does not argue much pleasure in the act +of writing. But I would say my little say; which perhaps is +all wrong. . . .</p> +<p>One of your Phrases I think truly delightful, about the +Treasure to be sometimes found in a weak Vessel like +Proclus. That I think is very Platonic; all the more for +such things coming only now and then, which makes them +tell. Modern Books lose by being over-crowded with good +things.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In the course of this year 1871, FitzGerald parted with his +little yacht the Scandal, so called, he said, because it was the +staple product of Woodbridge, and on September 4 he wrote to +me:—</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Septr.</i> 4/71.</p> +<p>‘I run over to Lowestoft occasionally for a few days, +but do not abide there long: no longer having my dear little Ship +for company. I saw her there looking very smart under her +new owner ten days ago, and I felt so at home when I was once +more on her Deck that—Well: I content myself with sailing +on the river Deben, looking at the Crops as they grow green, +yellow, russet, and are finally carried away in the red and blue +Waggons with the sorrel horse.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span><i>To W. F. +Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1871].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . A night or two ago I was reading old Thackeray’s +Roundabouts; and (sign of a good book) heard him talking to +me. I wonder at his being so fretted by what was said of +him as some of these Papers show that he was: very unlike his old +self, surely. Perhaps Ill Health (which Johnson said made +every one a Scoundrel) had something to do with this. I +don’t mean that W. M. T. went this length: but in this one +respect he was not so good as he used to be.</p> +<p>Annie Thackeray in her yearly letter wrote that she had heard +from Mrs. A. T. that the Laureate was still suffering. I +judge from your Letter that he is better. . . . I never +heard any of his coadjutor Sullivan’s Music. Is there +a Tune, or originally melodious phrase, in any of it? That +is what I always missed in Mendelssohn, except in two or three of +his youthful Pieces; Fingal and Midsummer Night’s Dream +overtures, and Meeresstille. Chorley <a +name="citation127"></a><a href="#footnote127" +class="citation">[127]</a> mentions as a great instance of +M.’s candour, that when some of his Worshippers were +sneering at Donizetti’s ‘Figlia,’ M. silenced +them by saying ‘Do you [know] I should like to have written +it myself.’ If he meant that he ever could have +written it if he had pleased, he ought to have had his nose +tweaked.</p> +<p><!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>I have been reading Sir Walter’s Pirate again, +and am very glad to find how much I like it—that is +speaking far below the mark—I may say how I wonder and +delight in it. I am rejoiced to find that this is so; and I +am quite sure that it is not owing to my old prejudice, but to +the intrinsic merit and beauty of the Book itself. With all +its faults of detail, often mere carelessness, what a broad +Shakespearian Daylight over it all, and all with no Effort, +and—a lot else that one may be contented to feel without +having to write an Essay about. They won’t beat Sir +Walter in a hurry (I mean of course his earlier, Northern, +Novels), and he was such a fine Fellow that I really don’t +believe any one would wish to cast him in the Shade. <a +name="citation128"></a><a href="#footnote128" +class="citation">[128]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Dec.</i> 20, [1871].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>Do not be alarmed at another Letter from me this year. +It will need no answer: and is only written to tell you that I +have not wholly neglected the wish you expressed in your last +about the Naseby stone. I was reading, some months ago, +your letters about our Naseby exploits in 1842: as also one which +you wrote in 1855 (I think) about that Stone, giving me an +Inscription for it. And it was not wholly my <!-- page +129--><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +129</span>fault that your wishes were not then fulfilled, though +perhaps I was wanting in due energy about the matter. Thus, +however, it was; that when you wrote in 1855, we had just sold +Naseby to the Trustees of Lord Clifden: and, as there was some +hitch in the Business (Lord Carlisle being one of the Trustees), +I was told I had better not put in my oar. So the matter +dropt. Since then Lord Clifden is dead: and I do not know +if the Estate belongs to his Family. But, on receiving your +last Letter, I wrote to the Lawyers who had managed for Lord +Clifden to know about it: but up to this hour I have had no +answer. Thus much I have done. If I get the +Lawyer’s and Agent’s consent, I should be very glad +indeed to have the stone cut, and lettered, as you wished. +But whether I should pluck up spirit to go myself and set it up +on the proper spot, I am not so sure; and I cannot be sure that +any one else could do it for me. Those who were with me +when I dug up the bones are dead, or gone; and I suppose the +Plough has long ago obliterated the traces of sepulture, in these +days of improved Agriculture; and perhaps even the Tradition is +lost from the Memory of the Generation that has sprung up since +I, and the old Parson, and the Scotch Tenant, turned up the +ground. You will think me very base to hesitate about such +a little feat as a Journey into Northamptonshire for this +purpose. But you know that one does not generally grow more +active in Travel as one gets older: and I have been a bad +Traveller all my life. <!-- page 130--><a +name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>So I will +promise nothing that I am not sure of doing. Only, if you +continue to desire this strongly, when next Summer comes, I will +resolve upon it if I can.</p> +<p>These Naseby Letters of yours—they are all yours I have +preserved, because (as in the case of Tennyson and Thackeray) I +would not leave anything of private personal history behind me, +lest it should fall into some unscrupulous hand. Even these +Naseby letters—would you wish them returned to you? +Only in case you should desire this, trouble yourself to answer +me now.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Dec.</i> 24, [1871]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . The Pirate is, I know, not one of Scott’s best: +the Women, Minna, Brenda, Norna, are poor theatrical +figures. But Magnus and Jack Bunce and Claud Halcro (though +the latter rather wearisome) are substantial enough: how +wholesomely they swear! and no one ever thinks of blaming Scott +for it. There is a passage where the Company at Burgh +Westra are summoned by Magnus to go down to the Shore to see the +Boats go off to the Deep Sea fishing, and ‘they followed +his stately step to the Shore as the Herd of Deer follows the +leading Stag, with all manner of respectful +Observance.’ This, coming in at the close of the +preceding unaffected Narrative is <!-- page 131--><a +name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>to me like +Homer, whom Scott really resembles in the simplicity and ease of +his Story. This is far more poetical in my Eyes than all +the Effort of ---, ---, etc. And which of them has written +such a Lyric as ‘Farewell to Northmaven’? I +finished the Book with Sadness; thinking I might never read it +again. . . .</p> +<p>P.S. Can’t you send me your Paper about the +Novelists? As to which is the best of all I can’t +say: that Richardson (with all his twaddle) is better than +Fielding, I am quite certain. There is nothing at all +comparable to Lovelace in all Fielding, whose Characters are +common and vulgar types; of Squires, Ostlers, Lady’s maids, +etc., very easily drawn. I am equally sure that Miss Austen +cannot be third, any more than first or second: I think you were +rather drawn away by a fashion when you put her there: and really +old Spedding seems to me to have been the Stag whom so many +followed in that fashion. She is capital as far as she +goes: but she never goes out of the Parlour; if but Magnus Troil, +or Jack Bunce, or even one of Fielding’s Brutes, would but +dash in upon the Gentility and swear a round Oath or two! I +must think the ‘Woman in White,’ with her Count +Fosco, far beyond all that. Cowell constantly reads Miss +Austen at night after his Sanskrit Philology is done: it composes +him, like Gruel: or like Paisiello’s Music, which Napoleon +liked above all other, because he said it didn’t interrupt +his Thoughts.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 132--><a +name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Dec.</i> 29 [1871].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>If you come here, come some very fine weather, when we look at +our best inland, and you may take charge of my Boat on the +River. I doubt I did my Eyes damage this Summer by steering +in the Sun, and peering out for the Beacons that mark the +Channel; but your Eyes are proof against this, and I shall resign +the command to you, as you wrote that you liked it at Clovelly. . +. .</p> +<p>I had thought Beauty was the main object of the Arts: but +these people, not having Genius, I suppose, to create any new +forms of that, have recourse to the Ugly, and find their +Worshippers in plenty. In Poetry, Music, and Painting, it +seems to me the same. And people think all this finer than +Mozart, Raffaelle, and Tennyson—as he <i>was</i>—but +he never ceases to be noble and pure. There was a fine +passage quoted from his Last Idyll: about a Wave spending itself +away on a long sandy Shore: that was Lincolnshire, I know.</p> +<p>Carlyle has written to remind me of putting up a Stone on the +spot in Naseby field where I dug up the Dead for him thirty years +ago. I will gladly have the Stone cut, and the Inscription +he made for it engraved: but will I go again to Northamptonshire +to see it set up? And perhaps the people there have +forgotten all about the place, now that a whole <!-- page +133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>Generation has passed away, and improved Farming has +passed the Plough over the Ground. But we shall see.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. A. Wright</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Jan.</i> 20/72.</p> +<p>By way of flourishing my Eyes, I have been looking into Andrew +Marvell, an old favourite of mine, who led the way for Dryden in +Verse, and Swift in Prose, and was a much better fellow than the +last, at any rate.</p> +<p>Two of his lines in the Poem on ‘Appleton House,’ +with its Gardens, Grounds, etc., run:</p> +<blockquote><p>But most the <i>Hewel’s</i> wonders are,<br +/> +Who here has the Holtseltster’s care.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The ‘<i>Hewel</i>’ being evidently the Woodpecker, +who, by tapping the Trees, etc., does the work of one who +measures and gauges Timber; here, rightly or wrongly, called +‘<i>Holtseltster</i>.’ ‘Holt’ +one knows: but what is ‘seltster’? I do not +find either this word or ‘Hewel’ in Bailey or +Halliwell. But ‘Hewel’ may be a form of +‘Yaffil,’ which I read in some Paper that Tennyson +had used for the Woodpecker in his Last Tournament. <a +name="citation133"></a><a href="#footnote133" +class="citation">[133]</a></p> +<p>This reminded me that Tennyson once said to me, some thirty +years ago, or more, in talking of Marvell’s ‘Coy +Mistress,’ where it breaks in—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 134</span>But at my back I always hear<br /> +Time’s winged chariot hurrying near, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘<i>That</i> strikes me as Sublime, I can hardly tell +why. Of course, this partly depends on its place in the +Poem.</p> +<p>Apropos of the Woodpecker, a Clergyman near here was telling +our Bookseller Loder, that, in one of his Parishioners’ +Cottages, he observed a dried Woodpecker hung up to the Ceiling +indoors; and was told that it always pointed with its Bill to the +Quarter whence the Wind blew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Miss Anna Biddell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Feb.</i> 22, +[1872].</p> +<p>. . . I have lost the Boy who read to me so long and so +profitably: and now have another; a much better Scholar, but not +half so agreeable or amusing a Reader as his Predecessor. +We go through Tichborne without missing a Syllable, and, when +Tichborne is not long enough, we take to Lothair! which has +entertained me well. So far as I know of the matter, his +pictures of the manners of English High Life are good: Lothair +himself I do not care for, nor for the more romantic parts, +Theodora, etc. Altogether the Book is like a pleasant Magic +Lantern: when it is over, I shall forget it: and shall want to +return to what I do not forget, some of Thackeray’s +monumental Figures of ‘pauvre et triste +Humanité,’ <!-- page 135--><a +name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>as old +Napoleon called it: Humanity in its Depths, not in its +superficial Appearances.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The Old +Place</span>, <i>Feb.</i> 25/72.</p> +<p>. . . Aldis Wright must be right about ‘sear’ <a +name="citation135a"></a><a href="#footnote135a" +class="citation">[135a]</a>—French <i>serre</i> he +says. What a pity that Spedding has not employed some of +the forty years he has lost in washing his Blackamoor in helping +an Edition of Shakespeare, though not in the way of these minute +archæologic Questions! I never heard him read a page +but he threw some new Light upon it. When you see him pray +tell him I do not write to him, because I judge from experience +that it is a labour to him to answer, unless it were to do me any +service I asked of him except to tell me of himself.</p> +<p>My heart leaped when the Boy read me the Attorney +General’s Quotation from A. T. <a +name="citation135b"></a><a href="#footnote135b" +class="citation">[135b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>From T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, +15, <i>June</i>, 1872.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>I am glad that you are astir on the Naseby-Monument question; +and that the auspices are so favourable. This welcome +‘Agent,’ so willing and beneficent, will <!-- page +136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>contrive, I hope, to spare you a good deal of the +trouble,—except indeed that of seeing with your own eyes +that the Stone is put in its right place, and the number of +‘yards rearward’ is exactly given.</p> +<p>I think the Inscription will do; and as to the shape, etc., of +the monument, I have nothing to advise,—except that I think +it ought to be of the most perfect <i>simplicity</i>, and should +<a name="citation136"></a><a href="#footnote136" +class="citation">[136]</a> go direct to its object and punctually +stop there. A small block of Portland stone—(Portland +excels all stones in the world for durability and capacity for +taking an exact inscription)—block of Portland stone of +size to contain the words and allow itself to be sunk firmly in +the ground; to me it could have no other good quality whatever; +and I should not care if the stone on three sides of it were +squared with the hammer merely, and only <i>polished</i> on its +front or fourth side where the letters are to be.</p> +<p>In short I wish <i>you</i> my dear friend to take charge of +this pious act in all its details; considering me to be loyally +passive to whatever you decide on respecting it. If on +those terms you will let me bear half the expense and flatter +myself that in this easy way I have gone halves with you in this +small altogether genuine piece of patriotism, I shall be +extremely obliged to you.</p> +<p>Pollock has told you an altogether flattering tale about my +strength, as it is nearly impossible for any person still on his +feet to be more completely useless.</p> +<p>Yours ever truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">T. +Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p>J. A. Froude (just come to walk with me) <i>scripsit</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 137--><a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span><i>To W. F. +Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>June</i> 16, [1872].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>Some forty years ago there was a set of Lithograph Outlines +from Hayter’s Sketches of Pasta in Medea: caricature +things, though done in earnest by a Man who had none of the +Genius of the Model he admired. Looking at them now people +who never saw the Original will wonder perhaps that Talma and +Mrs. Siddons should have said that they might go to learn of Her: +and indeed it was only the Living Genius and Passion of the Woman +herself that could have inspired and exalted, and enlarged her +very incomplete Person (as it did her Voice) into the Grandeur, +as well as the <i>Niobe</i> Pathos, of her Action and +Utterance. All the nobler features of Humanity she had +indeed: finely shaped Head, Neck, Bust, and Arms: all finely +related to one another: the superior Features too of the Face +fine: Eyes, Eyebrows—I remember Trelawny saying they +reminded him of those in the East—the Nose not so fine: but +the whole Face ‘homogeneous’ as Lavater calls it, and +capable of all expression, from Tragedy to Farce. For I +have seen her in the ‘Prova d’ un’ Opera +Seria,’ where no one, I believe, admired her but myself, +except Thomas Moore, whose Journal long after published revealed +to me one who thought,—yes, and <i>knew</i>—as I +did. Well, these Lithographs <!-- page 138--><a +name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>are as mere +Skeleton Outlines of the living Woman, but I suppose the only +things now to give an Idea of her, I have been a dozen years +looking out for a Copy.</p> +<p>I think I love the Haymarket as much as any part of London +because of the Little Theatre where Vestris used to sing +‘Cherry Ripe’ in her prime: and (soon after) because +of the old Bills on the opposite Colonnade: ‘<span +class="smcap">Medea in Corinto</span>. Medea, <i>Signora +Pasta</i>.’ You know what she said, to the Confusion +of all æsthetic People, one of whom said to her, +‘sans doute vous avez beaucoup étudié +l’Antique?’ ‘Peut-être je +l’ai beaucoup senti.’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I have remembered, since last writing to you, that the Hayter +Sketches were published by Dickenson of Bond Street, about +1825-6, I fancy. I have tried to get them, and all but +succeeded two years ago. I am afraid they would give you +and Miss Bateman the impression that Pasta played the Virago: +which was not so at all. Her scene with her Children was +among the finest of all: and it was well known at the time how +deeply she felt it. But I suppose the stronger Situations +offered better opportunities for the pencil, such a pencil as +Hayter’s. I used to admire as much as anything her +Attitude and Air as she stood at the side of the Stage when +Jason’s Bridal Procession <!-- page 139--><a +name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>came on: +motionless, with one finger in her golden girdle: a habit which +(I heard) she inherited from Grassini. The finest thing to +me in Pasta’s Semiramide was her simple Action of touching +Arsace’s Shoulder when she chose him for husband. She +was always dignified in the midst of her Passion: never scolded +as her Caricature Grisi did. And I remember her curbing her +Arsace’s redundant Action by taking hold of her +(Arsace’s) hands, Arsace being played by Brambilla, who was +(I think) Pasta’s Niece. <a name="citation139a"></a><a +href="#footnote139a" class="citation">[139a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>July</i> 4/72.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I like your Fraser Paper very much, and recognised some points +we had talked of together, <a name="citation139b"></a><a +href="#footnote139b" class="citation">[139b]</a> but nothing that +I can claim as my own. I suppose that I think on these +points as very many educated men do think; I mean as to +Principles of Art. I am not sure I understand your word +‘Imagination’ as opposed to realistic (d---d word) +detail at p. 26, but I suppose I suppose I know what is meant, +nevertheless, and agree with that. Is the Prophet of p. 24 +<i>Gurlyle</i>? <a name="citation139c"></a><a +href="#footnote139c" class="citation">[139c]</a> I think +so. The fine head of him which figures as Frontispiece to +the People’s Edition of Sartor made me think of a sad Old +Prophet; so that I bought the Book for the Portrait only.</p> +<p>The ‘Brown Umbrella’ pleased me greatly.</p> +<p><!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>Well; and I thought there were other Papers in Fraser +which made me think that, on the whole, I would take in Fraser +rather than the Cornhill which you advised. Perhaps I am +just now out of tune for Novels; whether that be so or not, I +don’t get an Appetite for Annie Thackeray’s <a +name="citation140"></a><a href="#footnote140" +class="citation">[140]</a> from the two Numbers I have had.</p> +<p>And here is Spedding’s vol. vi. which leaves me much +where it found me about Bacon: but though I scarce care for him, +I can read old Spedding’s pleading for him for ever; that +is, old Spedding’s simple statement of the case, as he sees +it. The Ralegh Business is quite delightful, better than +Old Kensington.</p> +<p>Then I have bought 3 vols of the ‘<i>Ladies +Magazine</i>’ for 1750-3 by ‘Jasper Goodwill’ +who died at Vol. iv. It contains the Trials and Executions +(16 men at a time) of the time; <i>Miss Blandy</i> above all; and +such delightful Essays, Poems, and Enigmas, for +<i>Ladies</i>! The Allegories are in the Rasselas style, +all Oriental. The Essays ‘of all the Virtues which +adorn, etc.’ Then Anecdotes of the Day: as of a +Country woman in St. James’ Park taking on because she +cannot go home till she has kissed the King’s hand: one of +the Park keepers tells one of the Pages, who tells the King, who +has the Woman in to kiss his hand, and take some money +beside. One wonders there weren’t heaps of such loyal +Subjects.</p> +<p><!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>Mowbray Donne wrote me that he sent you the Fragments I +had saved and transcribed of Morton’s Letters; the best +part having been lost by Blackwood’s People thirty years +ago, as I believe I told you. But don’t you think +what remains capital? I wish you would get them put into +some Magazine, just for the sake of some of our Day getting them +in Print. You might just put a word of Preface as to the +Author: an Irish Gentleman, of Estate and Fortune (which of +course went the Irish way), who was Scholar, Artist, Newspaper +Correspondent, etc. A dozen lines would tell all that is +wanted, naming no names. It might be called +‘Fragments of Letters by an “Ill-starred” or +“Unlucky” Man of Genius,’ etc. as S. M. was: +‘Unlucky’ being still used in Suffolk, with something +of Ancient Greek meaning. See if you cannot get this done, +will you? For I think many of S. M.’s friends would +be glad of it: and the general Public assuredly not the +worse. Some of the names would need some correction, I +think: and the Letters to be put in order of Time. <a +name="citation141a"></a><a href="#footnote141a" +class="citation">[141a]</a> ‘Do it!’ as Julia +in the Hunchback says.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 142--><a +name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>[1872.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I went to London at the end of last week, on my way to +Sydenham, where my second Brother is staying, whom I had not seen +these six years, nor his Wife. . . . On Saturday I went to +the Academy, for little else but to see Millais, and to disagree +with you about him! I thought his three Women and his +Highlanders brave pictures, which you think also; but braver than +you think them. The Women looked alive: the right Eye so +much smaller than the left in the Figure looking at you that I +suppose it was so in the original, so that I should have chosen +one of the other Sisters for the position. I could not see +any analogy between the Picture and Sir Joshua’s Graces, +except that there were Three. Nor could I think the +Highlanders in the Landscape vulgar; they seemed to me in +character with the Landscape. Both Pictures want tone, +which may mean Glazing: wanting which they may last the longer, +and sober down of themselves without the danger of cracking by +any transparent Colour laid over them.</p> +<p><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>I scarce looked at anything else, not having much +time. Just as I was going out, who should come up to me but +Annie Thackeray, who took my hands as really glad to see her +Father’s old friend. I am sure she was; and I was +taken aback somehow; and, out of sheer awkwardness, began to tell +her that I didn’t care for her new Novel! And then, +after she had left her Party to come to me, I ran off! It +is true, I had to be back at Sydenham: but it would have been +better to forgo all that: and so I reflected when I had got +halfway down Piccadilly: and so ran back, and went into the +Academy again: but could not find A. T. She told me she was +going to Normandy this week: and I have been so vext with myself +that I have written to tell her something of what I have told +you. It was very stupid indeed.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>November</i> 1, [1872].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>The Spectator, as also the Athenæum, somewhat +over-praise Gareth, I think: but I am glad they do so. . . +. The Poem seems to me scarce more worthy of what A. T. was +born to do than the other Idylls; but you will almost think it is +out of contradiction that I like it better: except, of course, +the original Morte. The Story of this young Knight, who can +submit and conquer and do all the Devoir of Chivalry, interests +me much <!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 144</span>more than the Enids, Lily Maids, +etc. of former Volumes. But Time <i>is</i>—Time +<i>was</i>—to have done with the whole Concern: pure and +noble as all is, and in parts more beautiful than any one else +can do. . . .</p> +<p>Rain—Rain—Rain! What will become of poor +Italy? I think we ought to subscribe for her. Did you +read of one French Caricature of the Pope leaving Rome with the +Holy Ghost in a Bird Cage?</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Nov.</i> 20.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I am glad the Rogers Verses <a name="citation144"></a><a +href="#footnote144" class="citation">[144]</a> gratified +you. I forget where I saw them quoted, some ten years ago; +but as I had long wished for them myself, and thought others +might wish for them also, I got them reprinted here in the form I +sent you. . . . I have no compunction at all in reviving +this Satire upon the old Banker, whom it is only paying off in +his own Coin. Spedding (of course) used to deny that R. +deserved his ill Reputation: but I never heard any one else deny +it. All his little malignities, unless the epigram on Ward +be his, are dead along with his little sentimentalities; while +Byron’s Scourge hangs over his Memory. The only one +who, so far as I have seen, has given any idea of his little +cavilling style, is Mrs. Trench in her Letters; her excellent +Letters, so far as I can see <!-- page 145--><a +name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>and judge, +next best to Walpole and Cowper in our Language. . . .</p> +<p>I have bought Regnard, of the old Molière times, very +good; and (what is always odd to me) as French as the French of +To-day: I mean, in point of Language.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Nov.</i> 1872.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>In a late Box of books which I had from Mudie were Macmillan +and Fraser, for 1869-1870. And in one of these—I am +nearly sure, Macmillan—is an Article called ‘Objects +of Art’ <a name="citation145"></a><a href="#footnote145" +class="citation">[145]</a> which treats very well, I think, on +the subject you and I talked of at Whitsun. . . .</p> +<p>My new Reader . . . has been reading to me Fields’ +‘Yesterdays with Authors,’ Hawthorne, Dickens, +Thackeray. The latter seems to me a Caricature: the Dickens +has one wonderful bit about Macready in 1869, which ought not to +have been printed during his Life, but which I will copy out for +you if you have not seen it. Hawthorne seems to me the most +of a Man of Genius America has produced in the way of +Imagination: yet I have never found an Appetite for his +Books. Frederic Tennyson sent me Victor Hugo’s +‘Toilers of the Sea,’ which he admires, I suppose; +but I can’t get up an Appetite for that neither. I +think the Scenes being laid in the Channel Islands <!-- page +146--><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>may have something to do with old Frederic’s +Liking. . . .</p> +<p>The Daily News only tells me of Crisises in France, Floods in +Italy, Insubordination of London Policemen, and Desertion from +the British Army. So I take refuge in other Topics. +Do look for ‘Objects of Art’ among them.</p> +<p>Which are you for</p> +<blockquote><p>Noi leggiavamo }<br /> +or } un giorno per diletto? <a name="citation146a"></a><a +href="#footnote146a" class="citation">[146a]</a><br /> +Noi leggevamo }</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>Nov.</i> 28 [1872].</p> +<p>‘Multæ Epistolæ pertransibunt et augebitur +Scientia.’ Our one Man of Books down here, Brooke, <a +name="citation146b"></a><a href="#footnote146b" +class="citation">[146b]</a> had told me that the old Editions on +the whole favoured ‘legg<i>ia</i>vamo.’ Now I +shall tell him that the Germans have decided on +‘leggevamo.’ But Brooke quotes one Copy (1502) +which reads ‘leggev<i>am</i>,’ which I had also +wished for, to get rid of a fifth (and superfluous) <i>o</i> in +the line. I suppose such a plural is as allowable as</p> +<blockquote><p>Noi andav<i>am</i> per lo solingo Piano, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>What is all this erudite Enquiry about? I was talking +with Edwards one night of this passage, and of this line in +particular, which came into my head as a motto for a Device <a +name="citation146c"></a><a href="#footnote146c" +class="citation">[146c]</a> we were talking of; and hence all +this precious fuss.</p> +<p><!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>But I want to tell you what I forgot in my last letter; +what Dickens himself says of his ‘Holyday Romance’ in +a letter to Fields.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i> 25, +1867.</p> +<p>‘I hope the Americans will see the joke of Holyday +Romance. The writing seems to me so much like +Children’s, that dull folk (on <i>any</i> side of +<i>any</i> water) might perhaps rate it accordingly. I +should like to be beside you when you read it, and particularly +when you read the Pirate’s Story. It made me laugh to +that extent that my people here thought I was out of my wits: +until I gave it to them to read, when they did +likewise.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One thinks, what a delightful thing to be such an +Author! Yet he died of his work, I suppose.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Jan</i>, 5/73.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I don’t know that I have anything to tell you, except a +Story which I have already written to Donne and to Mrs. Kemble, +all the way to Rome, out of a French Book. <a +name="citation147"></a><a href="#footnote147" +class="citation">[147]</a> I just now forget the name, and +it is gone back to Mudie. About 1783, or a little later, a +young <i>Danseur</i> of the French Opera falls in love with a +young <i>Danseuse</i> of the same. She, however, takes up +with a ‘Militaire,’ who indeed commands the Guard who +are on <!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 148</span>Service at the Opera. The poor +Danseur gets mad with jealousy: attacks the Militaire on his +post; who just bids his Soldiers tie the poor Lad to a Column, +without further Injury. The Lad, though otherwise unhurt, +falls ill of Shame and Jealousy; and dies, after bequeathing his +Skeleton to the Doctor attached to the Opera, with an +understanding that the said Skeleton is to be kept in the +Doctor’s Room at the Opera. Somehow, this Skeleton +keeps its place through Revolutions, and Changes of Dynasty: and +re-appears on the Scene when some Diablerie is on foot, as in +Freischütz; where, says the Book, it still produces a +certain effect. I forgot to say that the <i>Subject</i> +wished to be in that Doctor’s Room in order that he might +still be near his Beloved when she danced.</p> +<p>Now, is not this a capital piece of French all over?</p> +<p>In Sophie Gay’s ‘Salons de Paris’ <a +name="citation148"></a><a href="#footnote148" +class="citation">[148]</a> I read that when Mad<sup>lle</sup> +Contat (the Predecessor of Mars) was learning under +Préville and his Wife for the Stage, she gesticulated too +much, as Novices do. So the Prévilles confined her +Arms like ‘<i>une Momie</i>’ she says, and then set +her off with a Scene. So long as no great Passion, or +Business, was needed, she felt pretty comfortable, she says: but +when the Dialogue grew hot, then she could not help trying to get +her hands free; and <i>that</i>, as the Prévilles told +her, sufficiently told her when Action should begin, and not till +then, whether in Grave or Comic. This <!-- page 149--><a +name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>anecdote +(told by Contat herself) has almost an exact counterpart in Mrs. +Siddons’ practice: who recited even Lear’s Curse with +her hands and arms close to her side like an Egyptian Figure, and +Sir Walter Scott, <a name="citation149a"></a><a +href="#footnote149a" class="citation">[149a]</a> who heard her, +said nothing could be more terrible. . . .</p> +<p>The Egyptian Mummy reminds me of a clever, dashing, Book we +are reading on the subject, by Mr. Zincke, Vicar of a Village <a +name="citation149b"></a><a href="#footnote149b" +class="citation">[149b]</a> near Ipswich. Did you know, or +do you believe, that the Mummy was wrapt up into its Chrysalis +Shape as an Emblem of Future Existence; wrapt up, too, in +bandages all inscribed with ritualistic directions for its +intermediate stage, which was not one of total Sleep? I +supposed that this might be a piece of ingenious Fancy: but +Cowell, who has been over to see me, says it is probable.</p> +<p>I have brought my Eyes by careful nursing into sufficient +strength to read Molière, and Montaigne, and two or three +more of my old ‘Standards’ with all my old +Relish. But I must not presume on this; and ought to spare +your Eyes as well as my own in respect of this letter.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Jan.</i> /73.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I have not been reading so much of my Gossip lately, to send +you a good little Bit of, which I think may do you a good turn +now and then. Give a look at ‘Egypt of the +Pharaohs’ by Zincke, Vicar of a <!-- page 150--><a +name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>Parish near +Woodbridge; the Book is written in a light, dashing (but not +Cockney pert) way, easily looked over. There is a supposed +Soliloquy of an English Labourer (called ‘Hodge’) as +contrasted with the Arab, which is capital.</p> +<p>Do you know Taschereau’s Life of Molière? I +have only got that prefixed to a common Edition of 1730. +But even this is a delightful serio-comic Drama. I see that +H. Heine says the French are all born Actors: which always makes +me wonder why they care so for the Theatre. Heine too, I +find, speaks of V. Hugo’s Worship of Ugliness; of which I +find so much in --- and other modern Artists, Literary, Musical, +or Graphic. . . .</p> +<p>What, you tell me, Palgrave said about me, I should have +thought none but a very partial Friend, like Donne, would ever +have thought of saying. But I’ll say no more on that +head. Only that, as regards the little Dialogue, <a +name="citation150"></a><a href="#footnote150" +class="citation">[150]</a> I think it is a very pretty thing in +Form, and with some very pretty parts in it. But when I +read it two or three years ago, there was, I am sure, some +over-smart writing, and some clumsy wording; insomuch that, +really liking the rest, I cut out about a sheet, and substituted +another, and made a few corrections with a Pen in what remained, +though plenty more might be made, little as the Book is. +Well; as you like this little Fellow, and I think he is worth +liking, up to a Point, I shall send you a Copy of these amended +Sheets.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 151--><a +name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>[<i>March</i> 1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>7¼ p.m. After a stroll in mine own Garden, under +the moon—shoes kicked off—Slippers and Dressing Gown +on—A Pinch of Snuff—and hey for a Letter—to my +only London Correspondent!</p> +<p>And to London have I been since my last Letter: and have seen +the Old Masters; and finished them off by such a Symphony as was +worthy of the best of them, two Acts of Mozart’s +‘Così.’ You wrote me that you had +‘assisted’ at that also: the Singing, as you know, +was inferior: but the Music itself! Between the Acts a Man +sang a song of Verdi’s: which was a strange Contrast, to be +sure: one of Verdi’s heavy Airs, however: for he has a true +Genius of his own, though not Mozart’s. Well: I did +not like even Mozart’s two Bravuras for the Ladies: a bad +Despina for one: but the rest was fit for—Raffaelle, whose +Christ in the Garden I had been looking at a little before. +I had thought Titian’s Cornaro, and a Man in Black, by a +Column, worth nearly all the rest of the Gallery till I saw the +Raffaelle: and I couldn’t let that go with the +others. All Lord Radnor’s Pictures were new to me, +and nearly all very fine. The Vandykes delightful: +Rubens’ Daniel, though all by his own hand, not half so +good as a Return from Hunting, which perhaps was not: the Sir +Joshuas not first rate, <!-- page 152--><a +name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>I think, +except a small life Figure of a Sir W. Molesworth in Uniform: the +Gainsboro’s scratchy and superficial, <i>I</i> thought: the +Romneys better, <i>I</i> thought. Two fine Cromes: Ditto +Turners: and—I will make an End of my Catalogue +Raisonnée. . . .</p> +<p>I suppose you never read Béranger’s Letters: +there are four thick Volumes of these, of which I have as yet +only seen the Second and Third: and they are well worth +reading. They make one love Béranger: partly because +(odd enough) he is so little of a Frenchman in Character, French +as his Works are. He hated Paris, Plays, Novels, Journals, +Critics, etc., hated being monstered himself as a Great Man, as +he proved by flying from it; seems to me to take a just measure +of himself and others, and to be moderate in his Political as +well as Literary Opinions.</p> +<p>I am hoping for Forster’s second volume of Dickens in +Mudie’s forthcoming Box. Meanwhile, my Boy (whom I +momently expect) reads me Trollope’s ‘He knew he was +right,’ the opening of which I think very fine: but which +seems to be trailing off into ‘longueur’ as I fancy +Trollope is apt to do. But he ‘has a world of his +own,’ as Tennyson said of Crabbe.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 30/73.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . You have never told me how you thought him [Spedding] +looking, etc., though you told me <!-- page 153--><a +name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>that your +Boy Maurice went to sit with him. It really reminds me of +some happy Athenian lad who was privileged to be with +Socrates. Some Plato should put down the Conversation.</p> +<p>I have just finished the second volume of Forster’s +Dickens: and still have no reason not to rejoice in the Man +Dickens. And surely Forster does his part well; but I can +fancy that some other Correspondent but himself should be drawn +in as Dickens’ Life goes on, and thickens with +Acquaintances.</p> +<p>We in the Country are having the best of it just now, I think, +in these fine Days, though we have nothing to show so gay as +Covent Garden Market. I am thinking of my Boat on the +River. . . .</p> +<p>You say I did not date my last letter: I can date this: for it +is my Birthday. <a name="citation153"></a><a href="#footnote153" +class="citation">[153]</a> This it was that made me resolve +to send you the Photos. Hey for my 65th year! I think +I shall plunge into a Yellow Scratch Wig to keep my head warm for +the Remainder of my Days.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In September 1863 Mr. Ruskin addressed a letter to ‘The +Translator of the Rubaiyat of Omar,’ which he entrusted to +Mrs. Burne Jones, who after an interval of nearly ten years +handed it to Mr. Charles Eliot Norton, Professor of the History +<!-- page 154--><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>of Fine Art in Harvard University. By him it was +transmitted to Carlyle, who sent it to FitzGerald, with the +letter which follows, of which the signature alone is in his own +handwriting.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, +14 <i>April</i>, 1873.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>Mr. Norton, the writer of that note, is a distinguished +American (co-editor for a long time of the North American +Review), an extremely amiable, intelligent and worthy man; with +whom I have had some pleasant walks, dialogues and other +communications, of late months;—in the course of which he +brought to my knowledge, for the first time, your notable <i>Omar +Khayyam</i>, and insisted on giving me a copy from the third +edition, which I now possess, and duly prize. From him too, +by careful cross-questioning, I identified, beyond dispute, the +hidden ‘Fitzgerald,’ the Translator;—and indeed +found that his complete silence, and unique modesty in regard to +said meritorious and successful performance, was simply a feature +of my own <i>Edward F.</i>! The translation is excellent; +the Book itself a kind of jewel in its way. I do +Norton’s mission without the least delay, as you +perceive. Ruskin’s message to you passes through my +hands sealed. I am ever your affectionate</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">T. +Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 155--><a +name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span><i>Carlyle +to Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">5 <span class="smcap">Cheyne +Row</span>, <span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>,<br /> +18 <i>April</i> 1873.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>It is possible Fitzgerald may have written to you; but whether +or not I will send you his letter to myself, as a slight emblem +and memorial of the peaceable, affectionate, and ultra modest +man, and his innocent <i>far niente</i> life,—and the +connexion (were there nothing more) of Omar, the Mahometan +Blackguard, and Oliver Cromwell, the English +Puritan!—discharging you completely, at the same time, from +ever returning me this letter, or taking any notice of it, except +a small silent one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>FitzGerald to Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(Enclosed in the preceding.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[15 <i>April</i> 1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>Thank you for enclosing Mr. Norton’s Letter: and will +you thank him for his enclosure of Mr. Ruskin’s? It +is lucky for both R. and me that you did not read his Note; a +sudden fit of Fancy, I suppose, which he is subject to. But +as it was kindly meant on his part, I have written to thank +him. Rather late in the Day; for his Letter (which Mr. +Norton thinks may have lain a year or two in his Friend’s +Desk) is dated September 1863.</p> +<p><!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span>Which makes me think of our old Naseby Plans, so long +talked of, and undone. I have made one more effort since I +last wrote to you; by writing to the Lawyer, as well as to the +Agent, of the Estate; to intercede with the Trustees thereof, +whose permission seems to be necessary. But neither Agent +nor Lawyer have yet answered. I feel sure that you believe +that I do honestly wish this thing to be done; the plan of the +Stone, and Inscription, both settled: the exact site ascertained +by some who were with me when I dug for you: so as we can even +specify the so many ‘yards to the rear’ which you +stipulated for: only I believe we must write ‘to the +East—or Eastward’—in lieu of ‘to the +rear.’ But for this Change we must have your +Permission as well as from the Trustees theirs.</p> +<p>I am glad to hear from Mr. Norton’s Letter to you that +you hold well, through all the Wet and Cold we have had for the +last six months. Our Church Bell here has been tolling for +one and another of us very constantly. I get out on the +River in my Boat, and dabble about my five acres of Ground just +outside the Town. Sometimes I have thought you might come +to my pleasant home, where I never live, but where you should be +treated with better fare than you had at Farlingay: where I did +not like to disturb the Hostess’ Economy. But I may +say this: you would not come; nor could I press you to do +so. But I remain yours sincerely, I assure you,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p><!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>P.S. Perhaps I had better write a word of thanks +to Mr. Norton myself: which I will do. I suppose he may be +found at the address he gives.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>April</i> 17/73.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>Two days ago Mr. Carlyle sent me your Note, enclosing one from +Mr. Ruskin ‘to the Translator of Omar +Khayyám.’ You will be a little surprized to +hear that Mr. Ruskin’s Note is dated September 1863: all +but ten years ago! I dare say he has forgotten all about it +long before this: however, I write him a Note of Thanks for the +good, too good, messages he sent me; better late than never; +supposing that he will not be startled and bored by my +Acknowledgments of a forgotten Favor rather than gratified. +It is really a funny little Episode in the Ten years’ +Dream. I had asked Carlyle to thank you also for such +trouble as you have taken in the matter. But, as your Note +to him carries your Address, I think I may as well thank you for +myself. I am very glad to gather from your Note that +Carlyle is well, and able to walk, as well as talk, with a +congenial Companion. Indeed, he speaks of such agreeable +conversation with you in the Message he appends to your +Letter. For which thanking you once more, allow me to write +myself yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 158--><a +name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span><i>To W. F. +Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[5 <i>May</i>, 1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I see that you were one of those who were at +Macready’s Funeral. I, too, feel as if I had lost a +Friend, though I scarce knew him but on the Stage. But +there I knew him as Virginius very well, when I was a Boy (about +1821), and when Miss Foote was his Daughter. +Jackson’s Drawing of him in that Character is among the +best of such Portraits, surely. I think I shall have a word +about M. from Mrs. Kemble, with whom I have been corresponding a +little since her return to England. She has lately been +staying with her Son-in-Law, Mr. Leigh, at Stoneleigh Vicarage, +near Kenilworth. In the Autumn she says she will go to +America, never to return to England. But I tell her she +will return. . . .</p> +<p>My Eyes have been leaving me in the lurch again: partly +perhaps from taxing them with a little more Reading: partly from +going on the Water, and straining after our River Beacons, in hot +Sun and East Wind; partly also, and <i>main partly</i> I doubt, +from growing so much older and the worse for wear. I am +afraid this very Letter will be troublesome to you to read: but I +must write at a Gallop if at all. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . This is Sunday Night: 10 p.m. And what is the +Evening Service which I have been listening <!-- page 159--><a +name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>to? +The ‘Eustace Diamonds’: which interest me almost as +much as Tichborne. I really give the best proof I can of +the Interest I take in Trollope’s Novels, by constantly +breaking out into Argument with the Reader (who never replies) +about what is said and done by the People in the several +Novels. I say ‘No, no! She must have known she +was lying!’ ‘He couldn’t have been such a +Fool! etc.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I am very shy of ‘The Greatest Poem,’ The +Greatest Picture, Symphony, etc., but one single thing I always +was assured of: that ‘The School’ was the best Comedy +in the English Language. Not wittier than Congreve, etc., +but with Human Character that one likes in it; Charles, both +Teazles, Sir Oliver, etc. Whereas the Congreve School +inspires no sympathy with the People: who are Manners not Men, +you know. Voilà de suffisamment péroré +à ce sujet-là. . . . I set my Reader last +night on beginning The Mill on the Floss. I couldn’t +take to it more than to others I have tried to read by the +Greatest Novelist of the Day: but I will go on a little +further. Oh for some more brave Trollope; who I am sure +conceals a much profounder observation than these Dreadful +Denners of Romance under his lightsome and sketchy touch, as +Gainboro compared to Denner.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 160--><a +name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>[<i>July</i> 1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>Thank you for the Fraser, and your Paper in it: which I +relished very much for its Humour, Discrimination, and easy +style; like all you write. Perhaps I should not agree with +you about all the Pictures: but you do not give me any great +desire to put that to the test.</p> +<p>Max Müller’s Darwin Paper reminded me of an +Observation in Bacon’s Sylva; <a name="citation160"></a><a +href="#footnote160" class="citation">[160]</a> that Apes and +Monkeys, with Organs of Speech so much like Man’s have +never been taught to speak an Articulate word: whereas Parrots +and Starlings, with organs so unlike Man’s, are easily +taught to do so. Do you know if Darwin, or any of his +Followers, or Antagonists, advert to this?</p> +<p>I have been a wonderful Journey—for me—even to +Naseby in Northamptonshire; to authenticate the spot where I dug +up some bones of those slain there, for Gurlyle thirty years +ago. We are to put up a Stone there to record the fact, if +we can get leave of the present Owners of the Field; a +permission, one would think, easy enough to obtain; but I have +been more than a Year trying to obtain it, notwithstanding; and +do not know that I am nearer the point after all. The Owner +is a Minor: and three Trustees must sanction the thing for him; +and these three Trustees are all great People, all living in +different <!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 161</span>parts of England; and, I suppose, +forgetful of such a little matter, though their Estate-agent, and +Lawyer, represented it to them long ago.</p> +<p>I stayed at Cambridge some three hours on my way, so as to +look at some of the Old, and New, Buildings, which I had not seen +these dozen years and more. The Hall of Trinity looked to +me very fine; and Sir Joshua’s Duke of Gloucester the most +beautiful thing in it. I looked into the Chapel, where they +were at work: the Roof seemed to me being overdone: and +Roubiliac’s Newton is now nowhere, between the Statues of +Bacon and Barrow which are executed on a larger scale. <a +name="citation161"></a><a href="#footnote161" +class="citation">[161]</a> And what does Spedding say to +Macaulay in that Company? I never saw Cambridge so empty, +but not the less pleasant.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>Two or three years ago I had three or four of my Master-pieces +done up together for admiring Friends. It has occurred to +me to send you one of these instead of the single Dialogue which +I was looking in the Box for. I think you have seen, or +had, all the <!-- page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 162</span>things but the last, <a +name="citation162"></a><a href="#footnote162" +class="citation">[162]</a> which is the most impudent of +all. It was, however, not meant for Scholars: mainly for +Mrs. Kemble: but as I can’t read myself, nor expect others +of my age to read a long MS. I had it printed by a cheap +friend (to the bane of other Friends), and here it is. You +will see by the notice that Æschylus is left +‘nowhere,’ and why; a modest proviso. Still I +think the Story is well compacted: the Dialogue good, (with one +single little originality; of riding into Rhyme as Passion grows) +and the Choruses (mostly ‘rot’ quoad Poetry) still +serving to carry on the subject of the Story in the way of +Inter-act. Try one or two Women with a dose of it one day; +not Lady Pollock, who knows better. . . . When I look over +the little Prose Dialogue, I see lots that might be weeded. +I wonder at one word which is already +crossed—‘<i>Emergency</i>.’ ‘An +Emergency!’ I think Blake could have made a Picture +of it as he did of the Flea. Something of the same +disgusting Shape too. . . . Blake seems to me to have fine +things: but as by random, like those of a Child, or a Madman, of +Genius. Is there one good whole Piece, of ever so few +lines? . . .</p> +<p>What do you think of a French saying quoted by Heine, that +when ‘Le bon Dieu’ gets rather bored in Heaven, he +opens the windows, and takes a look at the Boulevards? +Heine’s account of the Cholera in France is wonderful.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 163--><a +name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>[1873.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>I am wondering in what Idiom you will one day answer my last. +<a name="citation163a"></a><a href="#footnote163a" +class="citation">[163a]</a> Meanwhile, I have to thank you +for Lady Pollock’s Article on American Literature: which I +like, as all of hers. Only, I cannot understand her +Admiration of Emerson’s ‘Humble Bee’; which, +without her Comment, I should have taken for a Burlesque on Barry +Cornwall, or some of that London School. Surely, that +‘Animated Torrid Zone’ without which ‘All is +Martyrdom,’ etc., is rather out of Proportion. I wish +she had been able to tell us that ten copies of Crabbe sold in +America for one in England: rather than Philip of +Artevelde. Perhaps Crabbe does too. What do you and +Miladi think of these two Lines of his which returned to me the +other day? Talking of poor Vagrants, etc.,</p> +<blockquote><p>Whom Law condemns, and Justice with a Sigh<br /> +Pursuing, shakes her Sword, and passes by. <a +name="citation163b"></a><a href="#footnote163b" +class="citation">[163b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>There are heaps of such things lying hid in the tangle of +Crabbe’s careless verse; and yet such things, you know, are +not the best of him, the distressing Old Man! Who would +expect such a Prettyness as this of him?</p> +<blockquote><p>As of fair Virgins dancing in a round,<br /> +Each binds the others, and herself is bound—<a +name="citation163c"></a><a href="#footnote163c" +class="citation">[163c]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>so the several Callings and Duties of Men in Civilized +Life, etc. Come! If Lady Pollock will write the +Reason of all this, I will supply her with a Lot of it without +her having the trouble of looking through all the eight volumes +for it. I really can do little more than like, or dislike, +Dr. Fell, without a further Reason: which is none at all, though +it may be a very good one. So I distinguish +<i>Phil</i>-osophers, and <i>Fell</i>-osophers; which is rather a +small piece of Wit. And I don’t like the Humble Bee; +and won’t like the Humble Bee, in spite of all the good +reasons Miladi gives why I should; and so tell her: and tell her +to forgive hers and yours always,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Alde +Cottage</span>, <span class="smcap">Aldeburgh</span>.<br /> +<i>August</i> 18, [1873].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>There being a change of servants in Market Hill, Woodbridge, I +came here for a week, bringing Tacitus <a +name="citation164"></a><a href="#footnote164" +class="citation">[164]</a> in my Pocket. You know I +don’t pretend to judge of History: I can only say that you +tell the Story of Tacitus’ own Life, and of what he has to +tell of others, very readably indeed to my Thinking: and so far I +think my Thinking is to be relied on. Some of the +Translations from T. by your other hands read so well also that I +have wished to get at <!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 165</span>the original. But I really +want an Edition such as you promised to begin upon. Thirty +years ago I thought I could make out these Latins and Greeks +sufficiently well for my own purpose; I do not think so now; and +want good help of other men’s Scholarship, and also of +better Eyes than my own.</p> +<p>I am not sure if you were ever at this place: I fancy you once +were. It is duller even than it used to be: because of even +the Fishing having almost died away. But the Sea and the +Shore remain the same; as to Nero, in that famous passage <a +name="citation165"></a><a href="#footnote165" +class="citation">[165]</a> I remember you pointed out to me: not +quite so sad to me as to him, but not very lively. I have +brought a volume or two of Walpole’s Letters by way of +amusement. I wish you were here; and I will wait here if +you care to come. Might not the Sea Air do you good?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Septr.</i> 8/73.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>Enclosed is the Naseby Lawyer’s answer on behalf of the +Naseby Trustees. I think it will seem marvellous in your +Eyes, as it does in mine.</p> +<p>You will see that I had suggested whether moving the +<i>Obelisk</i>, the ‘foolish Obelisk,’ might not be +accomplished in case The Stone were rejected. You see also +that my Lawyer offers his mediation in the <!-- page 166--><a +name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>matter if +wished. I cannot believe the Trustees would listen to this +Scheme any more than to the other. Nor do I suppose you +would be satisfied with the foolish Obelisk’s Inscription, +which warns Kings not to exceed their just Prerogative, nor +Subjects [to swerve from] their lawful Obedience, etc., but does +not say that it stands on the very spot where the Ashes of the +Dead told of the final Struggle.</p> +<p>I say, I do not suppose any good will come of this second +Application. The Trouble is nothing to me; but I will not +trouble this Lawyer, Agent, etc., till I hear from you that you +wish me to do so. I suppose you are now away from Chelsea; +I hope among your own old places in the North. For I think, +and I find, that as one grows old one returns to one’s old +haunts. However, my letter will reach you sooner or later, +I dare say: and, if one may judge from what has passed, there +will be no hurry in any future Decision of the ‘Three +Incomprehensibles.’</p> +<p>I have nothing to tell of myself; having been nowhere but to +that Naseby. I am among my old haunts: so have not to +travel. But I shall be very glad to hear that you are the +better for having done so; and remain your ancient Bedesman,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 167--><a +name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span><i>From T. +Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The Hill</span>, +<span class="smcap">Dumfries</span>, N.B.<br /> +13 <i>Sep.</i>, 1873.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>There is something at once pathetic and ridiculous and +altogether miserable and contemptible in the fact you at last +announce that by one caprice and another of human folly +perversity and general length of ear, our poor little enterprize +is definitively forbidden to us. Alas, our poor little +‘inscription,’ so far as I remember it, was not more +criminal than that of a number on a milestone; in fact the whole +adventure was like that of setting up an authentic +<i>milestone</i> in a tract of country (spiritual and physical) +mournfully in want of measurement; that was <i>our</i> highly +innocent offer had the unfortunate Rulers of the Element in that +quarter been able to perceive it at all! Well; since they +haven’t, one thing at least is clear, that our attempt is +finished, and that from this hour we will devoutly give it +up. That of shifting the now existing pyramid from Naseby +village and rebuilding it on Broadmoor seems to me entirely +inadmissible;—and in fact unless <i>you</i> yourself should +resolve, which I don’t counsel, on marking, by way of +foot-note, on the now existing pyramid, accurately how many yards +off and in what direction the real battle ground lies from it, +there is nothing visible to me which can without ridiculous +impropriety be done.</p> +<p>The trouble and bother you have had with all this, which I +know are very great, cannot be repaid you, dear old friend, +except by my pious thankfulness, which <!-- page 168--><a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>I can well +assure you shall not be wanting. But actual <i>money</i>, +much or little, which the surrounding blockheads connected with +this matter have first and last cost you, this I do request that +you will accurately sum up that I may pay the half of it, as is +my clear debt and right. This I do still expect from you; +after which <i>Finis</i> upon this matter for ever and a day. . . +.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Good be ever with you, dear +FitzGerald,<br /> +I am and remain Yours truly<br /> +(<i>Signed</i>) <span class="smcap">T. Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[16 <i>Dec.</i> 1873.]</p> +<p>. . . What do you think I am reading? Voltaire’s +‘Pucelle’: the Epic he was fitted for. It is +poor in Invention, I think: but wonderful for easy Wit, and the +Verse much more agreeable to me than the regularly rhymed +Alexandrines. I think Byron was indebted to it in his +Vision of Judgment, and Juan: his best works. There are +fine things too: as when Grisbourdon suddenly slain tells his +Story to the Devils in Hell where he unexpectedly makes his +Appearance,</p> +<blockquote><p>Et tout l’Enfer en rit d’assez bon +cœur.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is nearer the Sublime, I fancy, than anything in the +Henriade. And one Canto ends:</p> +<blockquote><p>J’ai dans mon temps possédé +des maîtresses,<br /> +Et j’aime encore à retrouver mon +cœur—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>is very pretty in the old Sinner. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>I am engaged in preparing to depart from these dear +Rooms where I have been thirteen years, and don’t know yet +where I am going. <a name="citation169"></a><a +href="#footnote169" class="citation">[169]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Grange +Farm</span>: <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span><br /> +<i>Febr</i>: 21/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>While I was reading a volume of Ste. Beuve at Lowestoft a +Fortnight ago, I wondered if you got on with him; j’avais +envie de vous écrire une petite Lettre à ce sujet: +but I let it go by. Now your Letter comes; and I will +write: only a little about S. B. however, only that: the Volume I +had with me was vol. <span class="smcap">iii.</span> of my +Edition (I don’t know if yours is the same), and I thought +you [would] like <i>all</i> of three Causeries in it: Rousseau, +Frederick the Great, and Daguesseau: the rest you might not so +much care for: nor I neither.</p> +<p>Hare’s Spain was agreeable to hear read: I have forgot +all about it. His ‘Memorials’ were insufferably +<!-- page 170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>tiresome to me. You don’t speak of +Tichborne, which I never tire of: only wondering that the Lord +Chief Justice sets so much Brains to work against so foolish a +Bird. <a name="citation170"></a><a href="#footnote170" +class="citation">[170]</a> The Spectator on Carlyle is very +good, I think. As to Politics I scarce meddle with +them. I have been glad to revert to Don Quixote, which I +read easily enough in the Spanish: it is so delightful that I +don’t grudge looking into a Dictionary for the words I +forget. It won’t do in English; or <i>has not +done</i> as yet: the English colloquial is not the Spanish +d<sup>o</sup>. It struck me oddly that—of all things +in the world!—Sir Thomas Browne’s Language might +suit.</p> +<p>They now sell at the Railway Stalls Milnes’ Life of +Keats for half a crown, as well worth the money as any +Book. I would send you a Copy if you liked: as I bought +three or four to give away.</p> +<p>You may see that I have changed my Address: obliged to leave +the Lodging where I had been thirteen years: and to come here to +my own house, while another Lodging is getting ready, which I +doubt I shall not inhabit, as it will entail Housekeeping on +me. But I like to keep my house for my Nieces: it is not my +fault they do not make it their home.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 171--><a +name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span><i>To S. +Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Grange +Farm</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>February</i> 26/74.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I am not very solicitous about the Likeness <a +name="citation171"></a><a href="#footnote171" +class="citation">[171]</a> as I might be of some dear Friend; but +I was willing to have a Portrait of the Poet whom I am afraid I +read more than any other of late and with whose Family (as you +know) I am kindly connected. The other Portrait, which you +wanted to see, and I hope have not seen, is by Phillips; and just +represents what I least wanted, Crabbe’s company look; +whereas Pickersgill represents the Thinker. So I fancy, at +least.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +[<i>July</i> 4/74.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I am (for a wonder) going out on a few days’ +visit. . . . And, once out, I meditate a run to Edinburgh, +only to see where Sir Walter Scott lived and wrote about. +But as I have meditated this great Enterprize for these thirty +years, it may perhaps now end again in meditation only. . . .</p> +<p>I am just finishing Forster’s Dickens: very good, I +think: only, he has no very nice perception of Character, I +think, or chooses not to let his readers into it. But there +is enough to show that Dickens <!-- page 172--><a +name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>was a very +noble fellow as well as a very wonderful one. . . . I, for +one, worship Dickens, in spite of Carlyle and the Critics: and +wish to see his Gadshill as I wished to see Shakespeare’s +Stratford and Scott’s Abbotsford. One must love the +Man for that.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>July</i> 23, [1874].</p> +<p>But I did get to Abbotsford, and was rejoiced to find it was +not at all Cockney, not a Castle, but only in the +half-castellated style of heaps of other houses in Scotland; the +Grounds simply and broadly laid out before the windows, down to a +field, down to the Tweed, with the woods which he left so little, +now well aloft and flourishing, and I was glad. I could not +find my way to Maida’s Grave in the Garden, with its false +Quantity,</p> +<blockquote><p>Ad jănuam Domini, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>which the Whigs and Critics taunted Scott with, and Lockhart +had done it. ‘You know I don’t care a curse +about what I write’; nor about what was imputed to +him. In this, surely like Shakespeare: as also in other +respects. I will worship him, in spite of Gurlyle, who sent +me an ugly Autotype of Knox whom I was to worship instead.</p> +<p>Then I went to see Jedburgh <a name="citation172"></a><a +href="#footnote172" class="citation">[172]</a> Abbey, in a half +ruined corner of which he lies entombed—Lockhart <!-- page +173--><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>beside him—a beautiful place, with his own Tweed +still running close by, and his Eildon Hills looking on. +The man who drove me about showed me a hill which Sir Walter was +very fond of visiting, from which he could see over the Border, +etc. This hill is between Abbotsford and Jedburgh: <a +name="citation173"></a><a href="#footnote173" +class="citation">[173]</a> and when his Coach horses, who drew +his Hearse, got there, to that hill, they could scarce be got +on.</p> +<p>My mission to Scotland was done; but some civil pleasant +people, whom I met at Abbotsford, made me go with them (under +Cook’s guidance) to the Trossachs, Katrine, Lomond, etc., +which I did not care at all about; but it only took a day. +After which, I came in a day to London, rather glad to be in my +old flat land again, with a sight of my old Sea as we came +along.</p> +<p>And in London I went to see my dear old Donne, because of +wishing to assure myself, with my own eyes, of his condition; and +I can safely say he looked better than before his Illness, near +two years ago. He had a healthy colour; was erect, alert, +and with his old humour, and interest in our old topics. . . +.</p> +<p>I looked in at the Academy, as poor a show as ever I had seen, +I thought; only Millais attracted me: a Boy with a red Sash: and +that old Seaman with his half-dreaming Eyes while the Lassie +reads to him. I had no Catalogue: and so thought the Book +was—The Bible—to which she was drawing his thoughts, +while the sea-breeze through the open <!-- page 174--><a +name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>Window +whispered of his old Life to him. But I was told afterwards +(at Donne’s indeed) that it was some account of a N. W. +Passage she was reading. The Roll Call I could not see, for +a three deep file of worshippers before it: I only saw the +‘hairy Cap’ as Thackeray in his Ballad, <a +name="citation174"></a><a href="#footnote174" +class="citation">[174]</a> and I supposed one would see all in a +Print as well as in the Picture. But the Photo of Miss +Thompson herself gives me a very favourable impression of +her. It really looks, in face and dress, like some of Sir +Joshua’s Women. . . .</p> +<p>Another Miss Austen! Of course under Spedding’s +Auspices, the Father of Evil.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>From W. H. Thompson to W. A. +Wright</i>.</p> +<p>On 17 July 1883, shortly after FitzGerald’s death, the +late Master of Trinity wrote to me from Harrogate, ‘As +regards FitzGerald’s letters, I have preserved a good many, +which I will look through when we return to College. I have +a long letter from Carlyle to him, which F. gave me. It is +a Carlylesque étude on Spedding, written from dictation by +his niece, but signed by the man himself in a breaking +hand. The thing is to my mind more characteristic of T. +Carlyle than of James Spedding—that “victorious +man” as C. calls him. He seems unaware of one +distinguishing feature of J. S.’s mind—its subtlety +of perception—and the excellence of his English style +escapes his critic, whose notices on that subject by the bye +would not necessarily command assent.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 175--><a +name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span><i>From +Thomas Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">5 <span class="smcap">Cheyne +Row</span>, <span class="smcap">Chelsea</span><br /> +6 <i>Nov.</i> 1874.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>Thanks for your kind little Letter. I am very glad to +learn that you are so cheerful and well, entering the winter +under such favourable omens. I lingered in Scotland, +latterly against my will, for about six weeks: the scenes there +never can cease to be impressive to me; indeed as natural in late +visits they are far too impressive, and I have to wander there +like a solitary ghost among the graves of those that are gone +from me, sad, sad, and I always think while there, ought not this +visit to be the last?</p> +<p>But surely I am well pleased with your kind affection for the +Land, especially for Edinburgh and the scenes about it. By +all means go again to Edinburgh (tho’ the old city is so +shorn of its old grim beauty and is become a place of Highland +shawls and railway shriekeries); worship Scott, withal, as vastly +superior to the common run of authors, and indeed grown now an +affectingly <i>tragic</i> man. Don’t forget Burns +either and Ayrshire and the West next time you go; there are +admirable antiquities and sceneries in those parts, leading back +(Whithorn for example, <i>Whitterne</i> or <i>candida casa</i>) +to the days of St. Cuthbert; not to speak of Dumfries with +Sweetheart Abbey and the brooks and hills a certain friend of +yours first opened his eyes to in this astonishing world.</p> +<p>I am what is called very well here after my return, worn weak +as a cobweb, but without bodily ailment <!-- page 176--><a +name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>except the +yearly increasing inability to digest food; my mind, too, if +usually mournful instead of joyful, is seldom or never to be +called miserable, and the steady gazing into the great unknown, +which is near and comes nearer every day, ought to furnish +abundant employment to the serious soul. I read, too; that +is my happiest state, when I can get <i>good books</i>, which +indeed I more and more rarely can.</p> +<p>Like yourself I have gone through <i>Spedding</i>, seven long +long volumes, not skipping except where I had got the sense with +me, and generally reading all of Bacon’s own that was +there: I confess to you I found it a most creditable and even +surprising Book, offering the most perfect and complete image +both of Bacon and of Spedding, and distinguished as the hugest +and faithfullest bit of literary navvy work I have ever met with +in this generation. Bacon is washed clean down to the +natural skin; and truly he is not nor ever was unlovely to me; a +man of no culpability to speak of; of an opulent and even +magnificent intellect, but all in the magnificent prose +vein. Nothing or almost nothing of the ‘melodies +eternal’ to be traced in him. Spedding’s Book +will last as long as there is any earnest memory held of Bacon, +or of the age of James VI., upon whom as upon every stirring man +in his epoch Spedding has shed new veritable illumination; in +almost the whole of which I perfectly coincided with +Spedding. In effect I walked up to the worthy man’s +house, whom I see but little, to tell him all this; and that +being a miss, I drove up, Spedding having by request called here +and missed me, but hitherto we have not met; and Spedding I doubt +not could contrive to dispense with my eulogy. There <!-- +page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>is a grim strength in Spedding, quietly, very quietly +invincible, which I did not quite know of till this Book; and in +all ways I could congratulate the indefatigably patient, placidly +invincible and victorious Spedding.</p> +<p>Adieu, dear F. I wish you a right quiet and healthy +winter, and beg to be kept in memory as now probably your oldest +friend.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Ever faithfully yours, dear F.,<br +/> +<span class="smcap">T. Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[9 <i>Nov.</i> 1874.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Master</span>,</p> +<p>I think there can be no criminal breach of Confidence in your +taking a Copy, if you will, of C[arlyle]’s Letter. +Indeed, you are welcome to keep it:—there was but one +Person else I wished to show it to, and she (a <i>She</i>) can do +very well without it. I sent it to you directly I got it, +because I thought you would be as pleased as I was with +C.’s encomium on Spedding, which will console him (if he +needs Consolation) for the obduracy of the World at large, myself +among the number. I can indeed fully assent to +Carlyle’s Admiration of Spedding’s History of the +<i>Times</i>, as well as of the Hero who lived in them. But +the Question still remains—was it worth forty years of such +a Life as Spedding’s to write even so good an Account of a +few, not the most critical, Years of English History, and to +leave Bacon (I think) a little less well off than when S. began +washing him: I <!-- page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 178</span>mean in the eyes of candid and +sensible men, who simply supposed before that Bacon was no better +than the Men of his Time, and now J. S. has proved it. I +have no doubt that Carlyle takes up the Cudgels because he thinks +the World is now going the other way. If Spedding’s +Book had been praised by the Critics—Oh Lord!</p> +<p>But what a fine vigorous Letter from the old Man! When I +was walking my Garden yesterday at about 11 a.m. I thought to +myself ‘the Master will have had this Letter at Breakfast; +and a thought of it will cross him tandis que le +Prédicateur de S<sup>te</sup> Marie soit en plein +Discours, etc.’ . . .</p> +<p>If Lord Houghton be with you pray thank him for the first +<i>ébauche</i> of Hyperion he sent me. Surely no one +can doubt which was the first Sketch.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Miss Anna Biddell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">12 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 18/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Biddell</span>,</p> +<p>I am sending you a Treat. The old Athenæum told me +there was a Paper by ‘Mr. Carlyle’ in this +month’s Magazine; and never did I lay out half-a-crown +better. And you shall have the Benefit of it, if you +will. Why, Carlyle’s Wine, so far from weak +evaporation, is only grown better by Age: losing some of its +former fierceness, and grown mellow without losing +Strength. It seems to me <!-- page 179--><a +name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>that a +Child might read and relish this Paper, while it would puzzle any +other Man to write such a one. I think I must write to T. +C. to felicitate him on this truly ‘Green Old +Age.’ Oh, it was good too to read it here, with the +old Sea (which also has not sunk into Decrepitude) rolling in +from that North: and as I looked up from the Book, there was a +Norwegian Barque beating Southward, close to the Shore, and +nearly all Sail set. Read—Read! you will, you must, +be pleased; and write to tell me so.</p> +<p>This Place suits me, I think, at this time of year: there is +Life about me: and that old Sea is always talking to one, telling +its ancient Story.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>. <i>Febr.</i> 2/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Biddell</span>,</p> +<p>I am <i>so</i> glad (as the Gushingtons say) that you like the +Carlyle. I have ordered the second Number and will send it +to you when I have read it. Some People, I believe, +hesitate in their Belief of its being T. C. or one of his School: +I don’t for a moment: if for no other reason than that an +Imitator always exaggerates his Model: whereas this Paper, we +see, <i>un</i>exaggerates the Master himself: as one would wish +at his time of Life. . . .</p> +<p>I ran over for one day to Woodbridge, to pay Bills, etc. +But somehow I was glad to get back here. The little lodging +is more to my liking <!-- page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 180</span>than my own bigger rooms and +staircases: and this cheerful Town better (at this Season) than +my yet barren Garden. One little Aconite however looked up +at me: Mr. Churchyard (in his elegant way) used to call them +‘New Year’s Gifts.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">12 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>Feb.</i> 2/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I hope you have read, and liked, the Paper on the old +Kings of Norway in last Fraser. I bought it because the +Athenæum told me it was Carlyle’s; others said it was +an Imitation of him: but his it must be, if for no other reason +than that the Imitator, you know, always exaggerates his Master: +whereas in this Paper Carlyle is softened down from his old Self, +mellowed like old Wine. Pray read, and tell me you think so +too. It is quite delightful, whoever did it. I was on +the point of writing a Line to tell him of my own delight: but +have not done so. . . .</p> +<p>I have failed in another attempt at Gil Blas. I believe +I see its easy Grace, humour, etc. But it is (like La +Fontaine) too thin a Wine for me: all sparkling with little +adventures, but no one to care about; no Colour, no Breadth, like +my dear Don; whom I shall resort to forthwith.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 181--><a +name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span><i>To W. F. +Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <i>Sept.</i> 22, [1878].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>You will scarce thank me for a letter in pencil: perhaps you +would thank me less if I used the steel pen, which is my other +resource. You could very well dispense with a Letter +altogether: and yet I believe it is pleasant to get one when +abroad.</p> +<p>I dare say I may have told you what Tennyson said of the +Sistine Child, which he then knew only by Engraving. He +first thought the Expression of his Face (as also the Attitude) +almost too solemn, even for the Christ within. But some +time after, when A. T. was married, and had a Son, he told me +that Raffaelle was all right: that no Man’s face was so +solemn as a Child’s, full of Wonder. He said one +morning that he watched his Babe ‘worshipping the Sunbeam +on the Bedpost and Curtain.’ I risk telling you this +again for the sake of the Holy Ground you are now standing +on.</p> +<p>Which reminds me also of a remark of Béranger’s +not out of place. He says God forgot to give Raffaelle to +Greece, and made a ‘joli cadeau’ of him to the Church +of Rome.</p> +<p>I brought here some Volumes of Lever’s ‘Cornelius +O’Dowd’ Essays, very much better reading <!-- page +182--><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>than Addison, I think. Also some of Sainte +Beuve’s better than either. A sentence in +O’Dowd reminded me of your Distrust of Civil Service +Examinations: ‘You could not find a worse Pointer than the +Poodle which would pick you out all the letters of the +Alphabet.’ And is not this pretty good of the World +we live in? ‘You ask me if I am going to +“<i>The Masquerade</i>.” I am at it: +Circumspice!’</p> +<p>So I pick out and point to other Men’s Game, this Sunday +Morning, when the Sun makes the Sea shine, and a strong head wind +drives the Ships with shortened Sail across it. Last night +I was with some Sailors at the Inn: some one came in who said +there was a Schooner with five feet water in her in the Roads: +and off they went to see if anything beside water could be got +out of her. But, as you say, one mustn’t be +epigrammatic and clever. Just before Grog and Pipe, the +Band had played some German Waltzes, a bit of Verdi, +Rossini’s ‘Cujus animam,’ and a capital +Sailors’ Tramp-chorus from Wagner, all delightful to me, on +the Pier: how much better than all the dreary oratorios going on +all the week at Norwich; Elijah, St. Peter, St. Paul, Eli, +etc. There will be an Oratorio for every Saint and Prophet; +which reminds me of my last Story. Voltaire had an especial +grudge against Habakkuk. Some one proved to him that he had +misrepresented facts in Habakkuk’s history. +‘C’est égal,’ <!-- page 183--><a +name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>says V., +‘Habakkuk était capable de tout.’ +Cornewall Lewis, who (like most other Whigs) had no Humour, yet +tells this: I wonder if it will reach Dresden.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Sept.</i> 23, [1875].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>It is very good of you to write to me, so many others as, I +know, you must have to write to. I can tell you but little +in return for the Story of your Summer Travel: but what little I +have to say shall be said at once. As to Travel, I have got +no further than Norfolk, and am rather sorry I did not go further +North, to the Scottish Border, at any rate. But now it is +too late. I have contented myself with my Boat on the River +here: with my Garden, Pigeons, Ducks, etc.; a great Philosopher +indeed! But (to make an end of oneself) I have not been +well all the summer; unsteady in head and feet; the Beginning of +the End, I suppose; and if the End won’t be too long +spinning out, one cannot complain of its coming too soon. . . +.</p> +<p>I had a kindly Letter from Carlyle some days ago: he was +summering at some place near Bromley in Kent, lent him by a Lady +Derby; once, he says, Lady Salisbury, which I don’t +understand. <!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 184</span>He had also the use of a Phaeton and +Pony; which latter he calls ‘<i>Shenstone</i>’ from a +partiality to stopping at every Inn door. Carlyle had been +a little touched in revisiting Eltham, and remembering Frank +Edgeworth who resided there forty years ago ‘with a little +Spanish Wife, but no pupils.’ Carlyle would name him +with a sort of sneer in the Life of Sterling; <a +name="citation184"></a><a href="#footnote184" +class="citation">[184]</a> could not see that any such notice was +more than needless, just after Edgeworth’s Death. +This is all a little Scotch indelicacy to other people’s +feelings. But now Time and his own Mortality soften +him. I have been looking over his Letters to me about +Cromwell: the amazing perseverance and accuracy of the Man, who +writes so passionately! In a letter of about 1845 or 6 he +says he has burned at least six attempts at Cromwell’s +Life: and finally falls back on sorting and elucidating the +Letters, as a sure Groundwork. . . .</p> +<p>I have this Summer made the Acquaintance of a great Lady, with +whom I have become perfectly intimate, through her Letters, +Madame de Sévigné. I had hitherto kept aloof +from her, because of that eternal Daughter of hers; but +‘it’s all Truth and Daylight,’ as Kitty Clive +said of Mrs. Siddons. Her Letters from Brittany are best of +all, not those from Paris, for she loved the Country, dear +Creature; and now I want to go and visit her +‘Rochers,’ but never shall.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 185--><a +name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span><i>To E. B. +Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1875.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I told Elizabeth, I think, all I had to write about +Arthur C. I had a letter from him a few days ago, hoping to +see me in London, where I thought I might be going about this +time, and where I would not go without giving him notice to meet +me, poor lad. As yet however I cannot screw my Courage to +go up: I have no Curiosity about what is to be seen or heard +there; my Day is done. I have not been very well all this +Summer, and fancy that I begin to ‘smell the Ground,’ +as Sailors say of the Ship that slackens speed as the Water +shallows under her. I can’t say I have much care for +long Life: but still less for long Death: I mean a lingering +one.</p> +<p>Did you ever read Madame de Sévigné? I +never did till this summer, rather repelled by her perpetual +harping on her Daughter. But it is all genuine, and the +same intense Feeling expressed in a hundred natural yet graceful +ways: and beside all this such good Sense, good Feeling, Humour, +Love of Books and Country Life, as makes her certainly the Queen +of all Letter writers.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 186--><a +name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span><i>To C. E. +Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <span +class="smcap">Suffolk</span>.<br /> +(<i>Post Mark Dec.</i> 8.) <i>Dec.</i> 9/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>Mr. Carlyle’s Niece has sent me a Card from you, asking +for a Copy of an Agamemnon: taken—I must not say, +translated—from Æschylus. It was not meant for +Greek Scholars, like yourself, but for those who do not know the +original, which it very much misrepresents. I think it is +my friend Mrs. Kemble who has made it a little known on your wide +Continent. As you have taken the trouble to enquire for it +all across the Atlantic, beside giving me reason before to +confide in your friendly reception of it, I post you one along +with this letter. I can fancy you might find some to be +interested in it who do not know the original: more interested +than in more faithful Translations of more ability. But +there I will leave it: only begging that you will not make any +trouble of acknowledging so small a Gift.</p> +<p>Some eighty of Carlyle’s Friends and Admirers have been +presenting him with a Gold Medal of himself, and an Address of +Congratulation on his 80th Birthday. I should not have +supposed that either Medal or Address would be much to his Taste: +but, as more important People than myself joined in the Thing, I +did not think it became me to demur. But I shall not the +less write him <!-- page 187--><a name="page187"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 187</span>my half-yearly Letter of Good Hopes +and Good Wishes. He seems to have been well and happy in +our pretty County of Kent during the Summer.</p> +<p>Believe me, with Thanks for the Interest you have taken in my +<i>Libretti</i>, yours sincerely, <span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p>P.S. I am doing an odd thing in bethinking me of sending +you two Calderon Plays, which my friend Mrs. Kemble has spoken of +also in your Country. So you might one day hear of them: +and, if you liked what came before, wish to see them. So +here they are, for better or worse; and, at any rate, one Note of +Thanks (which I doubt you will feel bound to write) will do for +both, and you can read as little as you please of either. +All these things have been done partly as an amusement in a +lonely life: partly to give some sort of idea of the originals to +friends who knew them not: and printed, because (like many +others, I suppose) I can only dress my best when seeing myself in +Type, in the same way as I can scarce read others unless in such +a form. I suppose there was some Vanity in it all: but +really, if I had that strong, I might have done (considering what +little I can do) like Crabbe’s Bachelor—</p> +<blockquote><p>I might have made a Book, but that my Pride<br /> +In the not making was more gratified. <a +name="citation187"></a><a href="#footnote187" +class="citation">[187]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Do you read more of Crabbe than we his Countrymen?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 188--><a +name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span><i>To Miss +Aitken</i>. <a name="citation188a"></a><a href="#footnote188a" +class="citation">[188a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Dec.</i> 9/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Aitken</span>,</p> +<p>It is a fact that the night before last I thought I would +write my half-yearly Enquiry about your Uncle: and at Noon came +your Note. I judge from it that he is well. I think +he will thrash me (as Bentley said <a name="citation188b"></a><a +href="#footnote188b" class="citation">[188b]</a>) even now.</p> +<p>I must say I scarce knew what to do when asked to join in that +Birthday Address. I did not know whether it would be +agreeable to your Uncle: and of course I could not ask him. +So I asked Spedding and Pollock, and found they were of the +Party: so it did not become me to hesitate. I hope we were +not all amiss.</p> +<p>But as to Agamemnon the King: I shall certainly send Mr. +Norton a Copy, as he has taken the trouble to send across the +Atlantic for it. But as to Mr. Carlyle, ‘c’est +une autre affaire.’ It was not meant for any Greek +Scholar, and only for a few not Greek, who I thought would be +interested, as they have been, in my curious Version. Among +these was Mrs. Kemble, who I suppose it is has praised it in a +way that somehow gains ground in America. But your +Uncle—a few years ago he would have been perhaps <!-- page +189--><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>a +little irritated with it; and now would not, I feel sure, care to +spend his Eyes over its sixty or seventy pages. He would +even now think—but in Pity now—how much better one +might have spent one’s time (though not very much was +spent) than in such Dilettanteism. So tell him not quite to +break his heart if I don’t put him to the Trial: but still +believe me his, and, if you will allow me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Fragment of a Letter to Miss +Biddell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 1875.</p> +<p>Thank you for the paragraph about Shelley. Somehow I +don’t believe the Story, <a name="citation189"></a><a +href="#footnote189" class="citation">[189]</a> in spite of +Trelawney’s Authority. Let them produce the Confessor +who is reported to tell the Story; otherwise one does not need +any more than such a Squall as we have late had in these Seas, +and yet more sudden, I believe, in those, to account for the +Disaster.</p> +<p>I believe I told you that my Captain Newson and his Nephew, my +trusty Jack, went in the Snow to the Norfolk Coast, by Cromer, to +find Newson’s Boy. They found him, what remained of +him, in a Barn there: brought him home through the Snow by Rail +thus far: and through the Snow by Boat to Felixstow, where he is +to lie among his Brothers and Sisters, to the Peace of his +Father’s Heart.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 190--><a +name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span><i>To S. +Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Dec.</i> 30/75.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I cannot get on with Books about the Daily Life which I +find rather insufferable in practice about me. I never +could read Miss Austen, nor (later) the famous George +Eliot. Give me People, Places, and Things, which I +don’t and can’t see; Antiquaries, Jeanie Deans, +Dalgettys, etc. . . . As to Thackeray’s, they are +terrible; I really look at them on the shelf, and am half afraid +to touch them. He, you know, could go deeper into the +Springs of Common Action than these Ladies: wonderful he is, but +not Delightful, which one thirsts for as one gets old and +dry.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. +<i>Jan.</i> 23/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I suppose you may see one of the Carlyle Medallions: and +you can judge better of the Likeness than I, who have not been to +Chelsea, and hardly out of Suffolk, these fifteen years and +more. I dare say it is like him: but his Profile is not his +best phase. In two notes dictated by him since that +Business he has not adverted to it: I think he must be a little +ashamed of it, though it would not do to say so in return, I +suppose. And yet I think he might have declined the Honours +of a Life of <!-- page 191--><a name="page191"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 191</span>‘Heroism.’ I have +no doubt he would have played a Brave Man’s Part if called +on; but, meanwhile, he has only sat pretty comfortably at +Chelsea, scolding all the world for not being Heroic, and not +always very precise in telling them how. He has, however, +been so far heroic, as to be always independent, whether of +Wealth, Rank, and Coteries of all sorts: nay, apt to fly in the +face of some who courted him. I suppose he is changed, or +subdued, at eighty: but up to the last ten years he seemed to me +just the same as when I first knew him five and thirty years +ago. What a Fortune he might have made by showing himself +about as a Lecturer, as Thackeray and Dickens did; I don’t +mean they did it for Vanity: but to make money: and that to spend +generously. Carlyle did indeed lecture near forty years ago +before he was a Lion to be shown, and when he had but few +Readers. I heard his ‘Heroes’ which now seems +to me one of his best Books. He looked very handsome then, +with his black hair, fine Eyes, and a sort of crucified +Expression.</p> +<p>I know of course (in Books) several of those you name in your +Letter: Longfellow, whom I may say I love, and so (I see) +can’t call him <i>Mister</i>: and Emerson whom I admire, +for I don’t feel that I know the Philosopher so well as the +Poet: and Mr. Lowell’s ‘Among my Books’ is +among mine. I also have always much liked, I think rather +loved, O. W. Holmes. I scarce know why I could never take +to that man of true Genius, Hawthorne. There is a <!-- page +192--><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +192</span>little of my Confession of Faith about your Countrymen, +and I should say mine, if I were not more Irish than English.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Feb.</i> 7/76.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I will not look on the Book you have sent me as any Return for +the Booklet I sent you, but as a free and kindly Gift. I +really don’t know that you could have sent me a +better. I have read it with more continuous attention and +gratification than I now usually feel, and always (as Lamb +suggested) well disposed to say Grace after reading.</p> +<p>Seeing what Mr. Lowell has done for Dante, Rousseau, etc., one +does not wish him to be limited in his Subjects: but I do wish he +would do for English Writers what Ste. Beuve has done for +French. Mr. Lowell so far goes along with him as to give so +much of each Writer’s Life as may illustrate his Writings; +he has more Humour (in which alone I fancy S. B. somewhat +wanting), more extensive Reading, I suppose; and a power of +metaphorical Illustration which (if I may say so) seems to me to +want only a little reserve in its use: as was the case perhaps +with Hazlitt. But Mr. Lowell is not biassed by +Hazlitt’s—(by anybody’s, so far as I +see)—party or personal prejudices; and altogether seems to +me the man most fitted to do this Good Work, where it has not (as +with Carlyle’s Johnson) been done, for good and all, +before. Of course, one only wants the <!-- page 193--><a +name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>Great Men, +in their kind: Chaucer, Pope (Dryden being done <a +name="citation193"></a><a href="#footnote193" +class="citation">[193]</a>), and perhaps some of the +‘minora sidera’ clustered together, as Hazlitt has +done them. Perhaps all this will come forth in some future +Series even now gathering in Mr. Lowell’s Head. +However that may be, this present Series will make me return to +some whom I have not lately looked up. Dante’s face I +have not seen these ten years: only his Back on my Book +Shelf. What Mr. Lowell says of him recalled to me what +Tennyson said to me some thirty-five or forty years ago. We +were stopping before a shop in Regent Street where were two +Figures of Dante and Goethe. I (I suppose) said, +‘What is there in old Dante’s Face that is missing in +Goethe’s?’ And Tennyson (whose Profile then had +certainly a remarkable likeness to Dante’s) said: +‘The Divine.’ Then Milton; I don’t think +I’ve read him these forty years; the whole Scheme of the +Poem, and certain Parts of it, looming as grand as anything in my +Memory; but I never could read ten lines together without +stumbling at some Pedantry that tipped me at once out of +Paradise, or even Hell, into the Schoolroom, worse than +either. Tennyson again used to say that the two grandest of +all Similes were those of the Ships hanging in the Air, and +‘the Gunpowder one,’ which he used slowly and grimly +to enact, in the Days that are no more. He certainly then +thought Milton the sublimest of all the Gang; his Diction +modelled on Virgil, as perhaps Dante’s.</p> +<p><!-- page 194--><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>Spenser I never could get on with, and (spite of Mr. +Lowell’s good word) shall still content myself with such +delightful Quotations from him as one lights upon here and there: +the last from Mr. Lowell.</p> +<p>Then, old ‘Daddy Wordsworth,’ as he was sometimes +called, I am afraid, from my Christening, he is now, I suppose, +passing under the Eclipse consequent on the Glory which followed +his obscure Rise. I remember fifty years ago at our +Cambridge, when the Battle was fighting for him by the Few +against the Many of us who only laughed at ‘Louisa in the +Shade,’ etc. His Brother was then Master of Trinity +College; like all Wordsworths (unless the drowned Sailor) pompous +and priggish. He used to drawl out the Chapel responses so +that we called him the ‘Mēēserable Sinner’ +and his brother the ‘Meeserable Poet.’ Poor fun +enough: but I never can forgive the Lakers all who first +despised, and then patronized ‘Walter Scott,’ as they +loftily called him: and He, dear, noble, Fellow, thought they +were quite justified. Well, your Emerson has done him far +more Justice than his own Countryman Carlyle, who won’t +allow him to be a Hero in any way, but sets up such a +cantankerous narrow-minded Bigot as John Knox in his stead. +I did go to worship at Abbotsford, as to Stratford on Avon: and +saw that it was good to have so done. If you, if Mr. +Lowell, have not lately read it, pray read Lockhart’s +account of his Journey to Douglas Dale on (I think) July 18 or +19, 1831. It is a piece of Tragedy, even to the muttering +Thunder, <!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 195</span>like the Lammermuir, which does not +look very small beside Peter Bell and Co.</p> +<p>My dear Sir, this is a desperate Letter; and that last +Sentence will lead to another dirty little Story about my Daddy: +to which you must listen or I should feel like the Fine Lady in +one of Vanbrugh’s Plays, ‘Oh my God, that you +won’t listen to a Woman of Quality when her Heart is +bursting with Malice!’ And perhaps you on the other +Side of the Great Water may be amused with a little of your old +Granny’s Gossip.</p> +<p>Well then: about 1826, or 7, Professor Airy (now our +Astronomer Royal) and his Brother William called on the Daddy at +Rydal. In the course of Conversation Daddy mentioned that +sometimes when genteel Parties came to visit him, he contrived to +slip out of the room, and down the garden walk to where +‘The Party’s’ travelling Carriage stood. +This Carriage he would look into to see what Books they carried +with them: and he observed it was generally ‘<span +class="smcap">Walter Scott’s</span>.’ It was +Airy’s Brother (a very veracious man, and an Admirer of +Wordsworth, but, to be sure, more of Sir Walter) who told me +this. It is this conceit that diminishes Wordsworth’s +stature among us, in spite of the mountain Mists he lived +among. Also, a little stinginess; not like Sir Walter in +that! I remember Hartley Coleridge telling us at Ambleside +how Professor Wilson and some one else (H. C. himself perhaps) +stole a Leg of Mutton from Wordsworth’s Larder for the fun +of the Thing.</p> +<p><!-- page 196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>Here then is a long Letter of old world Gossip from the +old Home. I hope it won’t tire you out: it need not, +you know.</p> +<p>P.S. By way of something better from the old World, I +post you Hazlitt’s own Copy of his English Poets, with a +few of his marks for another Edition in it. If you like to +keep it, pray do: if you like better to give it to +Hazlitt’s successor, Mr. Lowell, do that from yourself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">12 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>April</i> 8/76.</p> +<p>. . . If you go to Brittany you must go to my dear +Sévigné’s ‘Rochers.’ If I +had the ‘Go’ in me, I should get there this Summer +too: as to Abbotsford and Stratford. She has been my +Companion here; quite alive in the Room with me. I +sometimes lament I did not know her before: but perhaps such an +Acquaintance comes in best to cheer one toward the End.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>June</i> 10 <a name="citation196"></a><a href="#footnote196" +class="citation">[196]</a>, [1876].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I don’t know that I should trouble you so soon +again—(only, don’t trouble yourself to answer for +<!-- page 197--><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>form’s sake only)—but that there is a good +deal of Wordsworth in the late Memoir of Haydon by his Son. +All this you might like to see; as also Mr. Lowell. And do +you, or he, know of some dozen very good Letters of +Wordsworth’s addressed to a Mr. Gillies who published them +in what he calls the Life of a Literary Veteran some thirty years +ago, <a name="citation197"></a><a href="#footnote197" +class="citation">[197]</a> I think? This Book, of scarce +any value except for those few Letters, and a few Notices of Sir +Walter Scott, all good, is now not very common, I think. If +you or Mr. Lowell would like to have a Copy, I can send you one, +through Quaritch, if not per Post: I have the Letters separately +bound up from another Copy of long ago. There is also a +favorable account of a meeting between Wordsworth and Foscolo in +an otherwise rather valueless Memoir of Bewick the Painter. +I tell you of all this Wordsworth, because you have, I think, a +more religious regard for him than we on this side the water: he +is not so much honoured in his own Country, I mean, his +Poetry. I, for one, feel all his lofty aspiration, and +occasional Inspiration, but I cannot say that, on the whole, he +makes much of it; his little pastoral pieces seem to me his best: +less than a Quarter of him. But I may be wrong.</p> +<p>I am very much obliged to you for wishing me to see Mr. +Ticknor’s Life, etc. I hope to make sure of that +through our Briareus-handed Mudie; and have <!-- page 198--><a +name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>marked the +Book for my next Order. For I suppose that it finds its way +to English Publishers, or Librarians. I remember his +Spanish Literature coming out, and being for a long time in the +hands of my friend Professor Cowell, who taught me what I know of +Spanish. Only a week ago I began my dear Don Quixote over +again; as welcome and fresh as the Flowers of May. The +Second Part is my favorite, in spite of what Lamb and Coleridge +(I think) say; when, as old Hallam says, Cervantes has fallen in +Love with the Hero whom he began by ridiculing. When this +Letter is done I shall get out into my Garden with him, Sunday +though it be.</p> +<p>We have also Memoirs of Godwin, very dry, I think; indeed with +very little worth reading, except two or three Letters of dear +Charles Lamb, ‘Saint Charles,’ as Thackeray once +called him, while looking at one of his half-mad Letters, and +remember[ing] his Devotion to that quite mad Sister. I must +say I think his Letters infinitely better than his Essays; and +Patmore says his Conversation, when just enough animated by Gin +and Water, was better than either: which I believe too. +Procter said he was far beyond the Coleridges, Wordsworths, +Southeys, etc. And I am afraid I believe that also.</p> +<p>I am afraid too this is a long letter nearly [all] about my +own Likes and Dislikes. ‘The Great +Twalmley’s.’ <a name="citation198"></a><a +href="#footnote198" class="citation">[198]</a> But I began +only thinking about Wordsworth. Pray do believe that I do +not wish <!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 199</span>you to write unless you care to +answer on that score. And now for the Garden and the Don: +always in a common old Spanish Edition. Their coarse prints +always make him look more of the Gentleman than the better +Artists of other Countries have hitherto done.</p> +<p>Carlyle, I hear, is pretty well, though somewhat shrunk: +scolding away at Darwin, The Turk, etc.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Septr.</i> 10/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>When your Letter reached me a few days ago I looked up +Gillies: and found the Wordsworth Letters so good, kindly, +sincere, and modest, that I thought you and Mr. Lowell should +have the Volume they are in at once. So it travels by Post +along with this Letter. The other two volumes shall go one +day in some parcel of Quaritch’s if he will do me that +Courtesy; but there is, I think, little you would care for, +unless a little more of ‘Walter Scott’s’ +generosity and kindness to Gillies in the midst of his own Ruin; +a stretch of Goodness that Wordsworth would not, I think, have +reached. However, these Letters of his make me think I +ought to feel more filially to my Daddy: I must dip myself again +in Mr. Lowell’s excellent Account of him with a more +reverent Spirit. Do you remember the fine Picture that +Haydon gives of him sitting with his grey head in the free +Benches of some London Church? <a name="citation199"></a><a +href="#footnote199" class="citation">[199]</a> I wonder +<!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>that more of such Letters as these to Gillies are not +preserved or produced; perhaps Mr. Lowell will make use of them +on some future occasion; some new Edition, perhaps, of his last +volume. I can assure you and him that I read that volume +with that Interest and Pleasure that made me sure I should often +return to it: as indeed I did more than once till—lent out +to three several Friends! It is now in the hands of a very +civilized, well-lettered, and agreeable Archdeacon, <a +name="citation200"></a><a href="#footnote200" +class="citation">[200]</a> of this District.</p> +<p>I bought Mr. Ticknor’s Memoirs in an Edition published, +I hope with due Licence, by Sampson Low. What a just, +sincere, kindly, modest Man he too! With more shrewd +perception of the many fine folks he mixed with than he cared to +indulge in or set down on Paper, I fancy: judging from some +sketchy touches of Macaulay, Talfourd, Bulwer, etc. His +account of his Lord Fitzwilliam’s is surely very creditable +to English Nobility. Macaulay’s Memoirs were less +interesting to me; though I quite believe in him as a brave, +honest, affectionate man, as well (of course) as a very powerful +one. It is wonderful how he, Hallam and Mackintosh could +roar and bawl at one another over such Questions as Which is the +Greatest Poet? Which is the greatest Work of that Greatest +Poet? etc., like Boys at some Debating Society.</p> +<p>You can imagine the little dull Country town on whose Border I +live; our one merit is an Estuary <!-- page 201--><a +name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>that brings +up Tidings of the Sea twice in the twenty-four hours, and on +which I sail in my Boat whenever I can.</p> +<p>I must add a P.S. to say that having written my half-yearly +Letter to Carlyle, just to ask how he was, etc., I hear from his +Niece that he has been to his own Dumfries, has driven a great +deal about the Country: but has returned to Chelsea very weak, +she says, though not in any way ill. He has even ceased to +care about Books; but, since his Return, has begun to interest +himself in them a little again. In short, his own Chelsea +is the best Place for him.</p> +<p>Another reason for this other half Sheet +is—that—Yes! I wish very much for your Translation of +the Vita Nuova, which I did read in a slovenly (slovenly with +Dante!) way twenty or thirty years ago, but which I did not at +all understand. I should know much more about it now with +you and Mr. Lowell.</p> +<p>I could without ‘roaring’ persuade you about Don +Quixote, I think; if I were to roar over the Atlantic as to +‘Which is the best of the Two Parts’ in the style of +Macaulay & Co. ‘Oh for a Pot of Ale, etc.,’ +rather than such Alarums. Better dull Woodbridge! +What bothered me in London was—all the Clever People going +wrong with such clever Reasons for so doing which I +couldn’t confute. I will send an original Omar if I +find one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 202--><a +name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 202</span><i>To E. B. +Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>October</i> 5/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I bought Clemencin’s Quixote after all: but have +looked little into him as yet, as I had finished my last Reading +of the Don before he came . . . I fear his Notes are more +than one wants about errors, or inaccuracies of Style, etc. +Cervantes had some of the noble carelessness of Shakespeare, +Scott, etc., as about Sancho’s stolen Dicky. <a +name="citation202"></a><a href="#footnote202" +class="citation">[202]</a> But why should Clemencin, and +his Predecessors, decide that Cervantes changed the title of his +second Part from ‘Hidalgo’ to ‘Caballero’ +from negligence? Why should he not have intended the change +for reasons of his own? Anyhow, they should have printed +the Title as he printed it, and pointed out what they thought the +oversight in a Note. This makes one think they may have +altered other things also: which perhaps I shall see when I begin +another Reading: which (if I live) won’t be very far +off. I think I almost inspired Alfred Tennyson (who +suddenly came here a Fortnight ago) to begin on the +Spanish. Yes: A. T. called one day, after near twenty +years’ separation, and we were in a moment as if we had +been together all that while. He had his son Hallam with +him: whom I liked much: unaffected and unpretentious: so +attentive to his Father, with a humorous sense of his Character +as well as a loving <!-- page 203--><a name="page203"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 203</span>and respectful. It was good to +see them together. We went one day down the Orwell and back +again by Steamer: but the weather was not very propitious. +Altogether, I think we were all pleased with our meeting.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Novr.</i> 8/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>‘Vita Nuova’ reached me safe, and ‘siempre +verde,’ untarnished by its Voyage. I am afraid I +liked your account of it more than itself: I mean, I was more +interested: I suppose it is too mystical for me. So I felt +when I tried to read it in the original twenty years ago: and I +fear I must despair of relishing it as I ought now I have your +Version of it, which, it seems to me, must be so good. I +don’t think you needed to bring in Rossetti, still less +Theodore Martin, to bear Witness, or to put your Work in any +other Light than its own.</p> +<p>After once more going through my Don Quixote (‘siempre +verde’ too, if ever Book was), I returned to another of the +Evergreens, Boccaccio, which I found by a Pencil mark at the +Volume’s end I had last read on board the little Ship I +then had, nine years ago. And I have shut out the accursed +‘Eastern Question’ by reading the Stories, as the +‘lieta Brigata’ shut out the Plague by telling +them. Perhaps Mr. Lowell will give us Boccaccio one day, +<!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>and Cervantes? And many more, whom Ste. Beuve has +left to be done by him. I fancy Boccaccio must be read in +his Italian, as Cervantes in his Spanish: the Language fitting +either ‘like a Glove’ as we say. +Boccaccio’s Humour in his Country People, Friars, Scolds, +etc., is capital: as well, of course, as the easy Grace and +Tenderness of other Parts. One thinks that no one who had +well read him and Don Quixote would ever write with a strain +again, as is the curse of nearly all modern Literature. I +know that ‘Easy Writing is d---d hard Reading.’ +Of course the Man must be a Man of Genius to take his Ease: but, +if he be, let him take it. I suppose that such as Dante, +and Milton, and my Daddy, took it far from easy: well, they dwell +apart in the Empyrean; but for Human Delight, Shakespeare, +Cervantes, Boccaccio, and Scott!</p> +<p>Tennyson (a Man of Genius, who, I think, has crippled his +growth by over-elaboration) came suddenly upon me here six weeks +ago: and, many years as it was since we had met, there seemed not +a Day’s Interval between. He looked very well; and +very happy; having with him his eldest Son, a very nice Fellow, +who took all care of ‘Papa,’ as I was glad to hear +him say, not ‘Governor’ as the Phrase now is. +One Evening he was in a Stew because of some nasty Paragraph in a +Newspaper about his not allowing Mr. Longfellow to quote from his +Poems. And he wrote a Note to Mr. L. at once in this room, +and his Son carried it off to the Post that same Night, <!-- page +205--><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>just in time. So my House is so far become a +Palace, being the Place of a Despatch from one Poet to the other, +all over that Atlantic!</p> +<p>We never had the trees in Leaf so long as this Year: they are +only just rusty before my window, this Nov. 8. So I thought +they would die of mere Old Age: but last night came a Frost, +which will hasten their End. I suppose yours have been +dying in all their Glory as usual.</p> +<p>You must understand that this Letter is to acknowledge the +Vita Nuova (which, by the by, I think ought to be the Title on +the Title page as well as outside), so do not feel obliged to +reply, but believe me yours truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Miss Anna Biddell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Saturday</i>, <i>Nov.</i> 76.</p> +<p>. . . You spoke once of even trying Walpole’s Letters; +capital as they are to me, I can’t be sure they would much +interest, even if they did not rather disgust, you: the Man and +his Times are such as you might not care for at all, though there +are such men as his, and such Times too, in the world about us +now. If you will have the Book on your return home, I will +send you a three-volume Collection of his Letters: that is, not a +Third part of all his collected Letters: but perhaps the best +part, and quite enough for a Beginning. I can scarce +imagine better <!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 206</span>Christmas fare: but I can’t, I +say, guess how you would relish it. N.B. It is not +gross or coarse: but you would not like the man, so satirical, +selfish, and frivolous, you would think. But I think I +could show you that he had a very loving Heart for a few, and a +very firm, just, understanding under all his Wit and Fun. +Even Carlyle has admitted that he was about the clearest-sighted +Man of his time.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>. <i>Decr.</i> 9/76.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>It was stupid of me not to tell you that I did not want +Contemporary back. It had been sent me by Tennyson or his +son Hallam (for I can’t distinguish their MS. now), that I +might see that A. S. Battle fragment: <a +name="citation206"></a><a href="#footnote206" +class="citation">[206]</a> which is remarkable in its way, I +doubt not. I see by the Athenæum that A. T. is +bringing out another Poem—another Drama, I think—as +indeed he hinted to me during his flying visit to +Woodbridge. He should rest on his Oars, or ship them for +good now, I think: and I was audacious to tell him as much. +But he has so many Worshippers who tell him otherwise. I +think he might have stopped after 1842, leaving Princesses, +Ardens, Idylls, etc., all unborn; all except The Northern Farmer, +which makes me cry. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>I dare say there are many as good, if not better, +Arctic accounts than ‘Under the Northern Lights,’ but +it was pleasant as read out to me by the rather intelligent Lad +who now serves me with Eyes for two hours of a Night at +Woodbridge. . . . I am, you see at old Quarters: but am +soon returning to Woodbridge to make some Christmas +Arrangements. Will Peace and Good Will be our Song this +year? Pray that it be so.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Miss Thackeray</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Decr.</i> 12, 1876.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Annie Thackeray</span>,</p> +<p>Messrs. Smith and Elder very politely gave me leave to print, +and may be publish, three Stanzas of your Father’s +‘Ho, pretty Page,’ adapted (under proper direction) +to an old Cambridge Tune, which he and I have sung together, +tho’ not to these fine Words, as you may guess. I +asked this of Messrs. Smith and Elder, because I thought they had +the Copyright. But I did not mean to publish them unless +with your Approval: only to print a few Copies for friends. +And I will stop even that, if you don’t choose. +Please to tell me in half a dozen words as directly as you +can.</p> +<p>The Words, you know, are so delightful (stanzas one, two, and +the last), and the old Tune of ‘Troll, troll, the bonny +brown Bowl’ so pretty, and (with <!-- page 208--><a +name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>some +addition) so appropriate, I think, that I fancied others beside +Friends might like to have them together. But, if you +don’t approve, the whole thing shall be quashed. +Which I ought to have asked before: but I thought your +Publishers’ sanction might include yours. Please, I +say, to say Yes or No as soon as you can.</p> +<p>I have been reading the two Series of ‘Hours in a +Library’ with real delight. Some of them I had read +before in Cornhill, but all together now: delighted, I say, to +find all I can so heartily concur and believe in put into a shape +that I could not have wrought out for myself. I think I +could have suggested a very little about Crabbe, in whom I am +very much up: and one word about Clarissa. <a +name="citation208"></a><a href="#footnote208" +class="citation">[208]</a> But God send me many more Hours +in a Library in which I may shut myself up from this accursed +East among other things.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Dec.</i> 22/76.<br /> +[Post mark <i>Dec.</i> 21.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>. . . In the last Atlantic Monthly was, as you know, an Ode by +Mr. Lowell; lofty in Thought and <!-- page 209--><a +name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>Expression: +too uniformly lofty, I think, for Ode. Do you, would Mr. +Lowell, agree? I should not say so, did I not admire the +work very much. You are very good to speak of sending me +his new Volume: but why should you? My old Athenæum +will tell me of it here, and I will be sure to get it.</p> +<p>You see --- has come out with another Heroic Poem! And +the Athenæum talks of it as a Great Work, etc., with (it +seems to me) the false Gallop in all the Quotations. It +seems to me strange that ---, ---, and ---, should go on pouring +out Poem after Poem, as if such haste could prosper with any but +First-rate Men: and I suppose they hardly reckon themselves with +the very First. I feel sure that Gray’s Elegy, pieced +and patched together so laboriously, by a Man of almost as little +Genius as abundant Taste, will outlive all these hasty +Abortions. And yet there are plenty of faults in that Elegy +too, resulting from the very Elaboration which yet makes it +live. So I think.</p> +<p>I have been reading with real satisfaction, and delight, Mr. +L. Stephen’s Hours in a Library: only, as I have told his +Sister in law, I should have liked to put in a word or two for +Crabbe. I think I could furnish L. S. with many Epigrams, +of a very subtle sort, from Crabbe: and several paragraphs, if +not pages, of comic humour as light as Molière. Both +which L. S. seems to doubt in what he calls ‘our excellent +Crabbe,’ who was not so ‘excellent’ (in the +goody sense) as L. S. seems to intimate. But then <!-- page +210--><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>Crabbe is my Great Gun. He will outlive ---, --- +and Co. in spite of his Carelessness. So think I again.</p> +<p>His Son, Vicar of a Parish near here, and very like the Father +in face, was a great Friend of mine. He detested Poetry +(sc. verse), and I believe had never read his Father through till +some twenty years ago when I lent him the Book. Yet I used +to tell him he threw out sparks now and then. As one day +when we were talking of some Squires who cut down Trees (which +all magnanimous Men respect and love), my old Vicar cried out +‘How <i>scan</i>dalously they misuse the +Globe!’ He was a very noble, courageous, generous +Man, and worshipped his Father in his way. I always thought +I could hear this Son in that fine passage which closes the Tales +of the Hall, when the Elder Brother surprises the Younger by the +gift of that House and Domain which are to keep them close +Neighbours for ever.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here on that lawn your Boys and Girls shall +run,<br /> +And gambol, when the daily task is done;<br /> +From yonder Window shall their Mother view<br /> +The happy tribe, and smile at all they do:<br /> +While you, more gravely hiding your Delight,<br /> +<i>Shall cry</i>—‘<i>O</i>, +<i>childish</i>!’—<i>and enjoy the Sight</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>By way of pendant to this, pray read the concluding lines of +the long, ill-told, Story of ‘Smugglers and +Poachers.’ Or shall I fill up my Letter with +them? This is a sad Picture to match that sunny one.</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 211</span>As men may children at their sports +behold,<br /> +And smile to see them, tho’ unmoved and cold,<br /> +Smile at the recollected Games, and then<br /> +Depart, and mix in the Affairs of men;<br /> +So Rachel looks upon the World, and sees<br /> +It can no longer pain, no longer please:<br /> +But just detain the passing Thought; just cause<br /> +A little smile of Pity, or Applause—<br /> +And then the recollected Soul repairs<br /> +Her slumbering Hope, and heeds her own Affairs.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I wish some American Publisher would publish my Edition of +Tales of the Hall, edited by means of Scissors and Paste, with a +few words of plain Prose to bridge over whole tracts of bad +Verse; not meaning to improve the original, but to seduce hasty +Readers to study it.</p> +<p>What a Letter, my dear Sir! But you encourage me to +tattle over the Atlantic by your not feeling bound to +answer. You are a busy man, and I quite an idle one, but +yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p>Carlyle’s Niece writes me that he is ‘fairly +well.’</p> +<p>Ecce iterum! That mention of Crabbe reminds me of +meeting two American Gentlemen at an Inn in Lichfield, some +thirty years ago. One of them was unwell, or feeble, and +the other tended him very tenderly: and both were very +gentlemanly and well-read. They had come to see the English +Cathedrals, and spoke together (it was in the common Room) of +Places and Names I knew very well. So that I took the +Liberty of telling them something of some matters <!-- page +212--><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>they were speaking of. Among others, this very +Crabbe: and I told them, if ever they came Suffolk way, I would +introduce them to the Poet’s son. I suppose I gave +them my Address: but I had to go away next morning before they +were down: and never heard of them again.</p> +<p>I sometimes wonder if this eternal Crabbe is relished in +America (I am not looking to my Edition, which would be a +hopeless loss anywhere): he certainly is little read in his own +Country. And I fancy America likes more abstract matter +than Crabbe’s homespun. Excuse Ætat. 68.</p> +<p>Yes, ‘Gillies arise! etc.’ But I remember +one who used to say he never got farther with another of the +Daddy’s Sonnets than—</p> +<blockquote><p>Clarkson! It was an obstinate hill to climb, +etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>English Sonnets, like English Terza Rima, want, I think, the +double rhyme.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Jan.</i> 15/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>Then I sent you the Greek instead of the Persian whom you +asked for? The two are the same size and binding: so of +course I sent the wrong one. But I will send the right one +directly: and you need not make a trouble of acknowledging it: I +know you will thank me, and I think you will feel a sort of <!-- +page 213--><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +213</span>‘triste Plaisir’ in it, as others beside +myself have felt. It is a desperate sort of thing, +unfortunately at the bottom of all thinking men’s minds; +but made Music of. . . . I shall soon be going to old ugly +Lowestoft again to be with Nephews and Nieces. The Great +Man . . . is yet there: commanding a Crew of those who prefer +being his Men to having command of their own. And they are +right; for the man is Royal, tho’ with the faults of +ancient Vikings. . . . His Glory is somewhat marred; but he +looks every inch a King in his Lugger now. At home (when he +is there, and not at the Tavern) he sits among his Dogs, Cats, +Birds, etc., always with a great Dog following abroad, and +aboard. This is altogether the Greatest Man I have +known.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>February</i> 1/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I really only write now to prevent your doing so in +acknowledgment of Thackeray’s Song <a +name="citation213"></a><a href="#footnote213" +class="citation">[213]</a> which I sent you, and you perhaps knew +the handwriting of the Address. Pray don’t write +about such a thing, so soon after the very kind Letter I have +just had from you. Why I sent you the Song I can hardly +tell, not knowing if you care for Thackeray or Music: but that +must be as it is; only, do not, pray, write expressly about +it.</p> +<p>The Song is what it pretends to be: the words <!-- page +214--><a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +214</span>speak for themselves; very beautiful, I think: the Tune +is one which Thackeray and I knew at College, belonging to some +rather free Cavalier words,</p> +<blockquote><p>Troll, troll, the bonny brown Bowl,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>with four bars interpolated to let in the Page. I have +so sung it (without a Voice) to myself these dozen years, since +his Death, and so I have got the words decently arranged, in case +others should like them as well as myself. Voilà +tout!</p> +<p>I thought, after I had written my last, that I ought not to +have said anything of an American Publisher of Crabbe, as it +might (as it has done) set you on thinking how to provide one for +me. I spoke of America, knowing that no one in England +would do such a thing, and not knowing if Crabbe were more read +in your Country than in his own. Some years ago I got some +one to ask Murray if he would publish a Selection from all +Crabbe’s Poems: as has been done of Wordsworth and +others. But Murray (to whom Crabbe’s collected Works +have always been a loss) would not meddle. . . . You shall +one day see my ‘Tales of the Hall,’ when I can get it +decently arranged, and written out (what is to be written), and +then you shall judge of what chance it has of success. I +want neither any profit, whether of money, or reputation: I only +want to have Crabbe read more than he is. Women and young +People never will like him, I think: but I believe every thinking +man will like him more as he grows older; <!-- page 215--><a +name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>see if this +be not so with yourself and your friends. Your +Mother’s Recollection of him is, I am sure, the just one: +Crabbe never showed himself in Company, unless to a very close +and experienced observer: his Company manner was exactly the +reverse of his Books: almost, as Moore says, +‘<i>doucereux</i>’; the apologetic politeness of the +old School over-done, as by one who was not born to it. But +Campbell observed his ‘shrewd Vigilance’ awake under +all his ‘politesse,’ and John Murray said that Crabbe +said uncommon things in so common a way that they escaped +recognition. It appears, I think, that he not only said, +but wrote, such things: even to such Readers as Mr. Stephen; who +can see very little Humour, and no Epigram, in him. I will +engage to find plenty of both. I think Mr. Stephen could +hardly have read the later Books: viz., Tales of the Hall, and +the Posthumous Poems: which, though careless and incomplete, +contain Crabbe’s most mature Self, I think. Enough of +him for the present: and altogether enough, unless I wish to +become a ‘seccatore’ by my repeated, long, letters. . +. .</p> +<p>Mr. Lowell was good enough to send me his Odes, and I have +written to acknowledge them with many thanks and a few +observations, not meant to instruct such a Man, but just to show +that I had read with Attention, as I did. I think I had +much the same to say of them as I said to you: and so I +won’t say it again. I think it is a mistake to rely +<!-- page 216--><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>on the reading, or recitation, for an Effect which +ought to speak for itself in any capable Reader’s +Head. Tennyson, with the grand Voice he had (I fancy it is +somewhat weakened now) could make sonorous music of such a +beginning to an Ode as</p> +<blockquote><p>Bury the Great Duke!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Thought is simple and massy enough: but where is a +Vowel? Dryden opened better:</p> +<blockquote><p>’Twās at the rōyal Feast +o’er Persia won.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But Mr. Lowell’s Odes, which do not fail in the Vowel, +are noble in Thought, with a good Organ roll in the music, which +perhaps he thinks more fitted to Subject and occasion.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">12 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>March</i> 11/77.</p> +<p>. . . I scarce like your taking any pains about my Works, +whether in Verse, Prose, or Music. I never see any Paper +but my old Athenæum, which, by the way, now tells me of +some Lady’s Edition of Omar which is to discover all my +Errors and Perversions. So this will very likely turn the +little Wind that blew my little Skiff on. Or the Critic who +incautiously helped that may avenge himself on Agamemnon King, as +he pleases. If the Pall Mall Critic knew Greek, I am rather +surprised he should have vouchsafed even so much praise as the +words <!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 217</span>you quoted. But I certainly +have found that those few whom I meant it for, not Greek +scholars, have been more interested in it than I expected. +Not you, I think, who, though you judge only too favourably of +all I do, are not fond of such Subjects.</p> +<p>I have here two Volumes of my dear +Sévigné’s Letters lately discovered at Dijon; +and I am writing out for my own use a Dictionary of the Dramatis +Persons figuring in her Correspondence, whom I am always +forgetting and confounding.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In May 1877 his old boatman West died and FitzGerald wrote to +Professor Cowell, ‘I have not had heart to go on our river +since the death of my old Companion West, with whom I had +traversed reach after reach for these dozen years. I am +almost as averse to them now as Peter Grimes. <a +name="citation217"></a><a href="#footnote217" +class="citation">[217]</a> So now I content myself with the +River Side.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. A. Wright</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>June</i> 23/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Wright</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have been regaling myself, in my unscholarly way, with +Mr. Munro’s admirable Lucretius. Surely, it must be +one of the most admirable Editions <!-- page 218--><a +name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>of a +Classic ever made! I don’t understand the Latin +punctuation, but I dare say there is good reason for it. +The English Translation reads very fine to me: I think I should +have thought so independent of the original: all except the dry +theoretic System, which I must say I do all but skip in the +Latin. Yet I venerate the earnestness of the man, and the +power with which he makes some music even from his hardest Atoms; +a very different Didactic from Virgil, whose Georgics, +<i>quoad</i> Georgics, are what every man, woman, and child, must +have known; but, his Teaching apart, no one loves him better than +I do. I forget if Lucretius is in Dante: he should have +been the Guide thro’ Hell: but perhaps he was too deep in +it to get out for a Holiday. That is a very noble Poussin +Landscape, v. 1370-8 ‘Inque dies magis, etc.’</p> +<p>I had always observed that mournful +‘<i>Nequicquam</i>’ which comes to throw cold water +on us after a little glow of Hope. When Tennyson went with +me to Harwich, I was pointing out an old Collier rolling by to +the tune of</p> +<blockquote><p>Trudit agens magnam magno molimine navem. +[iv. 902.]</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That word ‘<i>Magnus</i>’ rules in Lucretius as +much as ‘Nequicquam.’ I was rejoiced to meet +Tennyson quoted in the notes too, and my old Montaigne who +discourses so on the text of</p> +<blockquote><p>Pascit amore avidos inhians in te, Dea, +visus. [i. 36.]</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 219--><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>Ask Mr. Munro, when he reprints, to quote old +Montaigne’s Version of</p> +<blockquote><p>Nam veræ voces tum demum, etc. [iii. +57.]</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘A ce dernier rolle de la Mort, et de nous, il n’y +a plus que feindre, il faut parler Français; il faut +montrer ce qu’il y a de bon et de net dans le fond du +pot.’ <a name="citation219a"></a><a href="#footnote219a" +class="citation">[219a]</a> And tell him (damn my +impudence!) I don’t like my old Fathers +‘<i>dancing</i>’ under the yellow and ferruginous +awnings. <a name="citation219b"></a><a href="#footnote219b" +class="citation">[219b]</a> . . .</p> +<p>There is a coincidence with Bacon in verses 1026-9 of Book +<span class="smcap">ii</span>. (Lucretius, I mean).</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Archdeacon</span>,</p> +<p>I have little else to send you in reply to your letter (which +I believe however was in reply to one of mine) except the +enclosed from Notes and Queries: which I think you will like to +read, and to return to me.</p> +<p>I think I will send you (when I can lay hand on it) two +volumes of some one’s Memorials of Wesley’s Family: +which you can look over, if you do not read, and return to me +also. I wonder at your writing to me that I gave you his +Journal so long as thirty years ago. I scarce knew that I +was so constant in my Affections: and yet I think I do <i>not</i> +change in <!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 220</span>literary cases. Pray read +Southey’s Life of him again: it does not tell all, I think, +which might be told of Wesley’s own character from his own +Mouth: but then it errs on the right side: it does not +presumptuously guess at Qualities and Motives which are not to be +found in Wesley: unlike Carlyle and the modern Historians, +Southey, I think, cannot be wrong by keeping so much within the +bounds of Conjecture: Conjecture about any other Man’s Soul +and Motives!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To FitzEdward Hall</i>. <a +name="citation220a"></a><a href="#footnote220a" +class="citation">[220a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>June</i> 24 [1877].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I have run through your <i>Ability</i> <a +name="citation220b"></a><a href="#footnote220b" +class="citation">[220b]</a> again, since I sent it to Wright: but +as I before said (I believe) am not a competent Critic. I +know that I coincide (unless I misconstrue) with your Canons laid +down at pp. 162, etc. I am for all words that are smooth, +or strong, (as the meaning requires) which have proved their +worth by general admission into the Language. +‘<i>Reliable</i>’ is, what +‘<i>trustworthy</i>’ is not, good current coin for +general use, though ‘<i>trustworthy</i>’ may be good +too for occasional emphasis.</p> +<p>I remember old Hudson Gurney cavilling a little at +‘<i>realize</i>’ as I innocently used the word in a +Memoir <!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 221</span>of my old Bernard Barton near thirty +years ago: this word I have also seen branded as American; let +America furnish us with more such words; better than what our +‘old English’ pedants supply, with their +‘<i>Fore-word</i>’ for ‘Preface,’ +‘<i>Folk-lore</i>,’ and other such conglomerate +consonants. Odd, that a Lawyer (Sugden) should have +lubricated ‘<i>Hand-book</i>’ by a sort of Persian +process into ‘Handy-book’!</p> +<p>I remember, years ago, thinking I must rebel against English +by using ‘<i>impitiable</i>’ for ‘incapable of +Pity.’ Yet I suppose that, according to Alford & +Co., I was justified, though ‘pitiable’ is, I think +always used of the thing pitied, not the Pitier. But I +should defer to customary usage rather than to any particular +whim of my own; only that it happened to come handy at the time, +and I did not, and do not, much care.</p> +<p>But is not usage against your use of +‘<i>imitable</i>’ at p. 100, meaning what <i>ought +not</i>, not what <i>cannot</i>, be imitated? ‘Non +imitabile fulmen,’ etc., and, negatively, +‘<i>inimitable</i>’?</p> +<p>‘<i>Vengeable</i>’ with its host of Authorities +surprised, and gratified, me.</p> +<p>Johnson, you say (p. 34) called +‘<i>uncomeatable</i>’ a low corrupt word: rather, as +you well say, ‘a permissible colloquialism.’ +Yes; like old Johnson’s own ‘<i>Clubable</i>’ +by which he designated some Good sociable Fellow.</p> +<p>‘<i>Party</i>’ has good Authority (from +Shakespeare himself, as we know), and is a handy word we ought +<!-- page 222--><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>not to dismiss: better than the d---d +‘<i>Individual</i>’ which should only be used in +philosophic or scientific discrimination. Still, Crabbe, in +his fine Opium-inspired ‘World of Dreams’ should not +recall his beloved as ‘<i>that dear Party</i>.’</p> +<p>Other adjectives beside those that ‘exit in +<i>able</i>’ are cavilled at. +‘<i>Fadeless</i>’; what is ‘<i>a +Fade</i>’? Why not ‘unfading’? Yet +there is a difference between what has not as yet faded, and what +<i>cannot</i> fade. And I shall become very +‘<i>tiresome</i>,’ though I don’t know of any +‘<i>tire</i>’ but of a Waggon wheel; and remain yours +truly.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>August</i> 21/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>You have doubtless heard from Mr. Lowell since he got to +Spain: he may have mentioned that unaccomplished visit to me +which he was to have undertaken at your Desire. I doubt the +two letters I wrote to be given him in London (through Quaritch) +did not reach him: only the first which said my house was full of +Nieces, so as I must lodge him (as I did our Laureate) at the +Inn: but the second Letter was to say that I had Houseroom, and +would meet him at the Train any day and hour. He wrote to +me the day before he left for Paris to say that he had never +intended to do more than just run down for the Day, shake hands, +and away! That I had an Instinct <!-- page 223--><a +name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>against: +that one half-day’s meeting of two Septuagenarians (I +believe), to see one another’s face for that once, +‘But here, upon that Bank and Shoal of Time and’ +then, ‘jump the Life to come’ as well as the Life +before. No: I say I am glad he did not do that: but I had +my house all ready to entertain him as best I could; and had even +planned a little Visit to our neighbouring Coast, where are the +Village remains of a once large Town devoured by the Sea: and, +yet undevoured (except by Henry VIII.), the grey walls of a Grey +Friars’ Priory, beside which they used to walk, under such +Sunsets as illumine them still. This pathetic Ruin, still +remaining by the Sea, would (I feel sure) have been more to one +from the New Atlantis than all London can show: but I should have +liked better had Mr. Lowell seen it on returning to America, +rather than going to Spain, where the yet older and more splendid +Moors would soon have effaced the memory of our poor +Dunwich. If you have a Map of England, look for it on the +Eastern Coast. If Mr. Lowell should return this way, and +return in the proper Season for such cold Climate as ours, he +shall see it: and so shall you, if you will, under like +conditions; including a reasonable and available degree of Health +in myself to do the honours. . . .</p> +<p>I live down in such a Corner of this little Country that I see +scarce any one but my Woodbridge Fellow-townsmen, and learn but +little from such Friends as could tell me of the World +beyond. But the English <!-- page 224--><a +name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 224</span>do not +generally love Letter writing: and very few of us like it the +more as we get older. So I have but little to say that +deserves an Answer from you: but please to write me a little: a +word about Mr. Lowell, whom you have doubtless heard from. +[One politeness I had prepared for him here was, to show him some +sentences in his Books which I did not like!] Which also +leads me to say that some one sent me a number of your American +‘Nation’ with a Review of my redoubtable Agamemnon: +written by a superior hand, and, I think, quite discriminating in +its distribution of Blame and Praise: though I will not say the +Praise was not more than deserved; but it was where deserved, I +think.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To J. R. Lowell</i>. <a +name="citation224"></a><a href="#footnote224" +class="citation">[224]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>August</i> 26/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I ought scarce to trouble you amid your diplomatic cares and +dignities. But I will, so far as to say I hope you had my +second letter before you left London: saying that my house was +emptied of Nieces, and I was ready to receive you for as long as +you would. Indeed, I chiefly flinched at the thought of +your taking the trouble to come down only for a Day: which means, +less than half a Day: a sort of meeting that seems a mockery in +the lives <!-- page 225--><a name="page225"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 225</span>of two men, one of whom I know by +Register to be close on Seventy. I do indeed deprecate any +one coming down out of his way: but, if he come, I would rather +he did so for such time as would allow of some palpable +Acquaintance. And I meant to take you to no other sight +than the bare grey walls of an old Grey Friars’ Priory near +the Sea; and I proposed to make myself further agreeable by +showing you three or two passages in your Books that I do not +like amid all the rest which I like so much: and had even meant +to give you a very small thirty year old Dialogue of my own, +which one of your ‘Study Windows’ reminded me +of. All this I meant; and, any how, wrote to say that I and +my house were ready. And there is enough of the +matter. You are busied with other and greater things. +Nor must you think yourself called on to answer this letter at +all.</p> +<p>When you were to start for Spain, I was thinking what a hot +time of it you would have there: in Madrid too, I suppose, worst +of all, I have heard. But you have Titian and Velasquez to +refresh you. Cervantes too is not far. We have here +(some two or three years old) a Book ‘Untrodden +Spain’; unaffectedly and pleasantly written by some +Clergyman, Rose, who lived chiefly among the mining folk. +But there is a Chapter in Vol. 2 entitled ‘[<i>El</i>]<i> +Pajaro</i>,’ and giving account of a day’s sport with +[Pedro the Barber] who carries a Decoy Bird, which is as another +Chapter to Don Quixote. Ah! I look at him on my Shelf, and +know that I can take him down when I <!-- page 226--><a +name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>will, and +that I shall do so many a time before 1878 if I live. . . .</p> +<p>Tell me something of the Spanish Drama, Lope, or +Calderon. I think you could get one acted by Virtue of your +Office.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. [<i>October</i>, +1877.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>—(which I will +exchange for your own name if you will set me Example).</p> +<p>You see I write to you; but do not expect any answer from the +midst of all your Business. But I have lately been +re-reading—(at that same old Dunwich, too)—those +Essays of yours on which you wished to see my +‘Adversaria.’ These are too few and +insignificant to specify by Letter: when you return to +English-speaking World, you shall, if you please, see my Copy, or +Copies, marked with a Query at such places as I stumbled +at. Were not the whole so really admirable, both in Thought +and Diction, I should not stumble at such Straws; such Straws as +you can easily blow away if you should ever care to do so. +Only, pray understand (what I really mean) that, in all my +remarks, I do not pretend to the level of an original Writer like +yourself: only as a Reader of Taste, which is a very different +thing you know, however useful now and then in the Service of +Genius. I am accredited with the Aphorism, ‘Taste is +the Feminine of Genius.’ However that may be, I have +some confidence in my <!-- page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 227</span>own. And, as I have read these +Essays of yours more than once and again, and with increasing +Satisfaction, so I believe will other men long after me; not as +Literary Essays only, but comprehending very much beside of Human +and Divine, all treated with such a very full and universal +Faculty, both in Thought and Word, that I really do not know +where to match in any work of the kind. I could make +comparisons with the best: but I don’t like +comparisons. But I think your Work will last, as I think of +very few Books indeed. You are yet two good years from +sixty (Mr. Norton tells me), and have yet at least a dozen more +of Dryden’s later harvest: pray make good use of it: +Cervantes, at any rate, I think to live to read, though one of +your great merits is, not being in a hurry: and so your work +completes itself. But I nearer seventy than you sixty. . . +.</p> +<p>You should get Dryden’s Prefaces published separately in +America, with your own remarks on them, and also Johnson’s +very fine praise: in which he praises Dryden for those unexpected +turns in which he himself is so deficient. But pray love +old Johnson, a little more than I think you do. We have, +you may know, a rather clumsy Edition of this Dryden Prose in +four 8vo volumes by Malone; the first volume all Life and a few +Letters. I have bought some three or four Copies of this +work, more or less worse for wear, to give away: one extra Copy, +much the worse for wear, on a back shelf now, waiting its +destination. No <!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 228</span>English Publisher, I suppose, would +do this work, unless under some great name: perhaps under yours, +if your own Country were not the fitter place. As in the +case of your Essays, I don’t pretend to say which is +finest: but I think that to me Dryden’s Prose, <i>quoad</i> +Prose, is the finest Style of all. So Gray, I believe, +thought: that man of Taste, very far removed, perhaps as far as +feminine from masculine, from the Man he admired.</p> +<p>Your Wordsworth should introduce any future Edition of him, as +I think some of Ste. Beuve’s Essays do some of his +men. He rarely, you know, gets beyond French.</p> +<p>Now, as I see my Paper draws short, I turn from your Works to +those of ‘The Great Twalmley,’ viz.: the Dialogue I +mentioned, and you ask for. I really got it out: but, on +reading it again after many years, was so much disappointed even +in the little I expected that I won’t send it to you, or +any one more. It is only eighty 12 mo pages, and about +twenty too long, and the rest over-pointed (Oh Cervantes!), and +all somewhat antiquated. But the Form of it is pretty: and +the little Narrative part: and one day I may strike out, etc., +and make you a present of a pretty Toy. But it won’t +do now.</p> +<p>I have at last bid Adieu to poor old Dunwich: the Robin +singing in the Ivy that hangs on those old Priory walls. A +month ago I wrote to ask <!-- page 229--><a +name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>Carlyle’s Niece about her Uncle, and telling her +of this Priory, and how her Uncle would once have called me +Dilettante; all which she read him; he only said ‘Poor, +Poor old Priory!’ She says he is very well, and +abusing V. Hugo’s +‘Misérables.’ I have been reading +his Cromwell, and not abusing it. You tell all the Truth +about him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>October</i> 28/77.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span> +(‘<i>Norton</i>’ I will write in my next if you will +anticipate me by a reciprocal Familiarity).</p> +<p>I wish I had some English Life, Woodbridge, or other, to send +you: but Woodbridge, I sometimes say, is as Pompeii, in that +respect; and I know little of the World beyond but what a stray +Newspaper tells me. So I must get back to my Friends on the +Shelf.</p> +<p>Thence I lately took down Mr. Lowell’s (I have proposed +to <i>un-mister</i> him too), Lowell’s Essays, and carried +them with me to that old Dunwich, which I suppose I shall see no +more this year. Robin Redbreast—have you +him?—was piping in the Ivy along the Walls; and, under +them, Blackberries ripening from stems which those old Grey +Friars picked from. And I had the Essays abroad, and within +doors; and marked with a Query some words, or sentences, which +<!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>I stumbled at: which I should not have stumbled at had +all the rest not been such capital Reading. I really +believe I know not, on the whole, any such Essays, of that kind: +and that a very comprehensive kind, both in Subject, and +Treatment. I think he settles many Questions that every one +discusses: and on which a Final Verdict is what we now +want. I believe the Books will endure: and that is why I +want a few blemishes, as I presume to think them, removed: and +the Author is to see my Pencil marks, when he returns to England, +or to her ‘Gigantic Daughter of the West.’ I +hope he will live to write many more such Books: Cervantes, first +of all!</p> +<p>I have also been reading Carlyle’s Cromwell: which I +think will last also, and so carry along with it many of his more +perishable tirades. I don’t know indeed if his is the +Final Verdict on Oliver: or on so many of the subordinate +Characters whom he sketches in so confidently. A shrewd Man +is he; but it is not so easy to judge of men by a few stray hints +of them in Books. A quaint instance of this Carlyle himself +supplied me with, in his total misapprehension of his hitherto +unseen Correspondent ‘Squire,’ who burned the +Cromwell Diary. I was the intelligent Friend who +interviewed Squire; as unlike as might be in Age, Person, and +Character, to the Man Carlyle had prefigured from his +Letters. One day I will send you the little Correspondence +between T. C. and <!-- page 231--><a name="page231"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 231</span>his intelligent Friend, as rather a +Curiosity in Historical Acumen.</p> +<p>I, Dryasdust, want to know if the Moon, the +‘Harvest’ Moon, too, really ‘waded through the +Clouds’ on the night before Dunbar Battle. She makes +so good a Figure in the Scene that I wish the Almanack to +authorize her Presence. Carlyle is, I believe, generally +accurate in these as in sublunary matters, but I had just found +him writing of Orion looking down on Paris on August 9, when +Orion is hardly up before Sunrise. . . .</p> +<p>And you have been so near where once I lived as Wherstead! in +which Parish my Family resided from about 1822 to 1835, at a +large Square House on the hill opposite to the Vicarage. I +know no more of Mr. Zincke than his Books, which are very good, I +think: there is a bit concerning Hodge the English +Labourer’s inward thoughts as he works in a ditch through a +Winter’s Day, that is—a piece of Shakespeare. +It is one of my few recital pieces: and I was quoting it the +other day to two People, who wondered they had never observed it +in the Book it came from, which is ‘Egypt under the +Pharaohs,’ <a name="citation231"></a><a href="#footnote231" +class="citation">[231]</a> I think.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>February</i> 14/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>It is so long since I have heard from you that, in spite of +knowing how inopportunely an idle <!-- page 232--><a +name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>Letter may +reach any one amid any sorrows, or much business, I venture one, +you see: but whether it be a trouble to lead or not, do not feel +bound to answer it except in the fewest words, in case you are +any way indisposed. You have—a family: you had an +aged Mother, when last I heard from you: room enough for +anxieties and sorrows!</p> +<p>I had your printed Report on Olympia, which I do not pretend +to be a Judge [of]. I lent it to one who thinks he returned +it, but certainly did not: and I wanted to lend it to another +much more competent Judge, very much interested in the Subject, +Edward Cowell, a Brother Professor of yours at our Cambridge: the +most learned man there, I believe, and the most amiable and +delightful, I believe, also. He came here to see me a month +ago: and I had one more search for the Pamphlet which I knew was +no longer ‘penes me,’ which he much wished to +see. Will you send me another Copy for him: if not to +‘Professor Cowell, Cambridge, England’ direct?</p> +<p>I have been rubbing up a little Latin from some Criticisms and +Elucidations of Catullus, by H. Munro, who edited Lucretius so +capitally that even German Scholars, I am told, accept it with a +respect which they accord to very few English. Do you know +it in America? If not, do. The Text and capital +English prose Translation in vol. <span class="smcap">i</span>; +and Notes in vol. <span class="smcap">ii</span>: all admirable, +it seems to me, though I do not understand his English <!-- page +233--><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>Punctuation. I do not follow all Lucretius’ +Atoms, etc.: but other parts are as fine to me as any Poet has +done. Catullus I have never taken much to: though some of +him too is as fine as anything else in its way, I think. So +I have read through this Book of Munro’s, only 240 pages, +not commenting on the best of the Poems, but on those which most +needed Elucidation; which are many of them the least interesting, +and even most disagreeable. Like your Olympia, I +don’t understand much: but what I do understand is so good +that I feel sure the rest (and that is the larger and perhaps +more important part) is as good for those it is intended for.</p> +<p>Just as I shut up Catullus, I opened Keats’ Love Letters +just published; and really felt no shock of change between the +one Poet and the other. This Book will doubtless have been +in America long before my Letter reaches it. Mr. Lowell, +who justly writes (in his Keats) that there is much in a Name, +will wish Keats’ mistress went by some other than +‘Fanny Brawne,’ which I cannot digest.</p> +<p>And Mr. Lowell himself? I do not like to write to him +amid his diplomatic avocations; if I did, I should perhaps tell +him that I did not like the style of his ‘Moosehead +Journal,’ which has been sent me by I know not whom. +I hope he is getting on with his Cervantes; which I know I shall +like, if it be at all of the same Complexion as his other two +Volumes, which I still think are best of their kind.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 234--><a +name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>February</i> 20/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>!</p> +<p>If Packet follows Packet duly, you will have received ere this +a letter I wrote you, and posted, a few hours before yours +reached me. You will have seen that I guessed at some +Shadow as of Illness in your household: no wonderful conjecture +in this World in any case; still less where a Life of eighty +years is concerned. It is in vain to wish well: but I wish +the best.</p> +<p>Your mention of your Mother reminded me of another Eighty +years that I had forgotten to tell you of—Carlyle. I +wrote to enquire about him of his Niece a month ago: he had been +very poorly, she said, but was himself again; only going in +Carriage, not on foot, for his daily Exercise: wrapt up in furry +Dressing-gown, and wondering that any one else complained of +Cold. He kept on reading assiduously, sometimes till past +midnight, in spite of all endeavours to get him to bed. +‘Qu’est ce que cela fait si je m’amuse?’ +as old Voltaire said on like occasions.</p> +<p>I have got down the Doudan <a name="citation234"></a><a +href="#footnote234" class="citation">[234]</a> you recommended +me: but have not yet begun with him. Pepys’ Diary and +Sir Walter, read to me for two hours of a night, have made those +two hours almost the best of the twenty-four for all these winter +months. That Eve of Preston Battle, with the <!-- page +235--><a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +235</span>old Baron’s Prayers to his Troop! He is +tiresome afterwards, I know, with his Bootjack. But Sir +Walter for ever! What a fine Picture would that make of +Evan Dhu’s entrance into Tully Veolan Breakfast Hall, with +a message from his Chief; he standing erect in his Tartan, while +the Baron keeps his State, and pretty Rose at the Table. +There is a subject for one of your Artists. Another very +pretty one (I thought the other Day) would be that of the child +Keats keeping guard with a drawn sword at his sick Mother’s +Chamber door. Millais might do it over here: but I +don’t know him. . . .</p> +<p>I will send you Carlyle’s Squire correspondence, which +you will keep to yourself and Lowell: you being Carlyle’s +personal friend as well as myself. Not that there is +anything that should not be further divulged: but one must +respect private Letters. Carlyle’s proves a droll +instance of even so shrewd a man wholly mistaking a man’s +character from his Letters: had now that Letter been two hundred +years old! and no intelligent Friend to set C. right by ocular +Demonstration.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To J. R. Lowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>February</i> 28/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I ventured to send you Keats’ Love Letters to +Miss—<i>Brawne</i>! a name in which there is much, <!-- +page 236--><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +236</span>as you say of his, and other names. . . . Well, I +thought you might—must—wish to see these Letters, +and, may be, not get them so readily in Spain. So I made +bold. The Letters, I doubt not, are genuine: whether +rightly or wrongly published I can’t say: only I, for one, +am glad of them. I had just been hammering out some Notes +on Catullus, by our Cambridge Munro, Editor of Lucretius, which +you ought to have; English Notes to both, and the Prose Version +of Lucretius quite readable by itself. Well, when Keats +came, I scarce felt a change from Catullus: both such fiery Souls +as wore out their Bodies early; and I can even imagine Keats +writing such filthy Libels against any one he had a spite +against, even Armitage Brown, had Keats lived two thousand years +ago. . . .</p> +<p>I had a kind letter lately from Mr. Norton: and have just +posted him some Carlyle letters about that Squire business. +If you return to America before very long you will find them +there. How long is your official Stay in Spain? +Limited, or Unlimited? By the bye of Carlyle, I heard from +his Niece some weeks ago that he had been poorly: but when she +wrote, himself again: only taking his daily walk in a Carriage, +and sitting up till past Midnight with his Books, in spite of +Warnings to Bed. As old Voltaire said to his Niece on like +occasion, ‘Qu’est ce que cela fait si je +m’amuse?’ I have from Mudie a sensible <!-- +page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +237</span>dull Book of Letters from a Miss Wynn: with this one +good thing in it. She has been to visit Carlyle in 1845: he +has just been to visit Bishop Thirlwall in Wales, and duly +attended Morning Chapel, as a Bishop’s Guest should. +‘It was very well done; it was like so many Souls pouring +in through all the Doors to offer their orisons to God who sent +them on Earth. We were no longer Men, and had nothing to do +with Men’s usages; and, after it was over, all those Souls +seemed to disperse again silent into Space. And not till we +all met afterward in the common Room, came the Human Greetings +and Civilities.’ <a name="citation237"></a><a +href="#footnote237" class="citation">[237]</a> This is, I +think, a little piece worth sending to Madrid; I am sure, the +best I have to offer.</p> +<p>I have had read to me of nights some of Sir Walter’s +Scotch Novels; Waverley, Rob, Midlothian, now the Antiquary: +eking them out as charily as I may. For I feel, in parting +with each, as parting with an old Friend whom I may never see +again. Plenty of dull, and even some bad, I know: but parts +so admirable, and the Whole so delightful. It is wonderful +how he sows the seed of his Story from the very beginning, and in +what seems barren ground: but all comes up in due course, and +there is the whole beautiful Story at last. I think all +this Fore-cast is to be read in Scott’s shrewd, humorous, +Face: as one sees it in Chantrey’s Bust; and as he seems +meditating on <!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 238</span>his Edinburgh Monument. I feel +a wish to see that, and Abbotsford again; taking a look at Dunbar +by the way: but I suppose I shall get no further than +Dunwich.</p> +<p>Some one (not you) sent me your Moosehead Journal: but I told +Mr. Norton I should tell you, if I wrote, that I did not like the +Style of it at all; all ‘too clever by half.’ +Do you not say so yourself after Cervantes, Scott, Montaigne, +etc.? I don’t know I ought to say all this to you: +but you can well afford to be told it by one of far more +authority than yours most sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. A. Wright</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>March</i> 3/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Wright</span>,</p> +<p>. . . You may infer that I have been reading—yes, and +with great Interest, however little Scholarship—your +Fellow-Collegian’s new Book of Notes, etc. <a +name="citation238"></a><a href="#footnote238" +class="citation">[238]</a> And just as I had done my best +with his Catullus, came to hand the Love-Letters of a kindred +Spirit, Keats; whose peevish Jealousy might, two thousand years +ago, have made him as bitter and indecent against his friend +Armitage Brown, as Catullus against Cæsar. But in him +too Malice was not stronger than Love, any more than in Catullus; +not only of the Lesbia-Brawne, but of the <!-- page 239--><a +name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>Fraternal, +kind. Keats sighs after ‘Poor Tom’ as well as +he whose ‘Frater ave atque vale’ continues sighing +down to these times. (I hope I don’t misquote, more +Hibernorum.)</p> +<p>That is a fine Figure of old Cæsar entertaining his +Lampooner at the Feast. And I have often thought what a +pretty picture, for Millais to do, of the Child Keats keeping +guard outside his sick Mother’s Chamber with a drawn +Sword. If Catullus, however, were only <i>Fescennining</i>, +his ‘Malice’ was not against Cæsar, but against +the Nemesis that might else be revenged on him—eh? +But I don’t understand how Suetonius, or those he wrote +for, could have forgotten, though for party purposes they may +have ignored, the nature and humour of that <i>Fescennine</i> +which is known to Scholars two thousand years after. How +very learned, and probably all wrong, have I become, since +becoming interested in this Book!</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>March</i> 21 +[1878].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Wright</span>,</p> +<p>. . . The Enclosed only adds a little to the little Paper of +<i>Data</i>: <a name="citation239"></a><a href="#footnote239" +class="citation">[239]</a> you may care to add so much in better +MS. than mine to the leaves I sent you. Those leaves were +more intended for such an Edition of the Letters in batches, as +now edited; and, as many of them are private right, <i>so</i> +edited they must continue for some time, I suppose.</p> +<p><!-- page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>An odd coincidence happened only yesterday about +them. I was looking to Lamb’s Letter to Manning of +Feb. 26, 1808, where he extols Braham, the Singer, who (he says) +led his Spirit ‘as the Boys follow Tom the +Piper.’ I had not thought who Tom was: rather +acquiesced in some idea of the ‘pied Piper of +Hamelin’; and, not half an hour after, chancing to take +down Browne’s Britannia’s Pastorals, <a +name="citation240a"></a><a href="#footnote240a" +class="citation">[240a]</a> found Tom against the Maypole, with a +ring of Dancers about him. I suppose Tom survived in +‘<i>Folk lore</i>’ . . . till dear Lamb’s time: +but how he, a Cockney, knew of it, I don’t know.</p> +<p>I was looking for Keats (when I happened on Browne) to find +the passage you quote <a name="citation240b"></a><a +href="#footnote240b" class="citation">[240b]</a>: but (of course) +I could not find the Book I wanted. Nor can I construe him +any more than so much of Shakespeare: whether from the negligent +hurry of both (Johnson says Shakespeare often contented himself +with a halfborn expression), or from some Printer’s +error. The meaning is clear enough to me, if I conjecture +the context right; and more so to you, I dare say. The +passage is one of those bad ones, except the first line, which he +afterwards repeated, mutatis mutandis,</p> +<blockquote><p> The leaves<br /> +That <i>tremble</i> round a Nightingale, <a +name="citation240c"></a><a href="#footnote240c" +class="citation">[240c]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>and is one of those which justly incensed the <!-- page +241--><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +241</span>Quarterly, and which K. himself knew were bad: but he +must throw off the Poem red hot, and could not alter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>April</i> 4, 1878.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I wish you would not impose on yourself to write me a Letter; +which you say is ‘in your head.’ You have +Literary work, and a Family to enjoy with you what spare time +your Professional Studies leave you. Whereas I have nothing +of any sort that I am engaged to do: all alone for months +together: taking up such Books as I please; and rather liking to +write Letters to my Friends, whom I now only communicate with by +such means. And very few of my oldest Friends, here in +England, care to answer me, though I know from no want of Regard: +but I know that few sensible men, who have their own occupations, +care to write Letters unless on some special purpose; and I now +rarely get more than one yearly Letter from each. Seeing +which, indeed, I now rarely trouble them for more. So pray +be at ease in this respect: you have written to me, as I to you, +more than has passed between myself and my fifty years old +Friends for some years past. I have had two notes from you +quite lately: one to tell me that Squire reached you; and another +that he was on his way back here. I was in no hurry for +him, knowing <!-- page 242--><a name="page242"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 242</span>that, if he got safe into your +hands, he would continue there as safe as in my own. I also +had your other two Copies of Olympia: one of which I sent to +Cowell, who is always too busy to write to me, except about twice +a year, in his Holydays.</p> +<p>I am quite content to take History as you do, that is, as the +Squire-Carlyle presents it to us; not looking the Gift Horse in +the Mouth. Also, I am sure you are quite right about the +Keats’ Letters. I hope I should have revolted from +the Book had anything in it detracted from the man: but all +seemed to me in his favour, and therefore I did not feel I did +wrong in having the secret of that heart opened to me. I +hope Mr. Lowell will not resent my thinking he might so far +sympathize with me. In fact, could he, could you, resist +taking up, and reading, the Letters, however doubtful their +publication might have seemed to your Conscience?</p> +<p>Now I enclose you a little work of mine <a +name="citation242"></a><a href="#footnote242" +class="citation">[242]</a> which I hope does no irreverence to +the Man it talks of. It is meant quite otherwise. I +often got puzzled, in reading Lamb’s Letters, about some +Data in his Life to which the Letters referred: so I drew up the +enclosed for my own behoof, and then thought that others might be +glad of it also. If I set down his Miseries, and the one +Failing for which those Miseries are such a Justification, I only +set down what has been long and publickly known, and what, except +in a Noodle’s eyes, must enhance the dear Fellow’s +<!-- page 243--><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>character, instead of lessening it. ‘Saint +Charles!’ said Thackeray to me thirty years ago, putting +one of C. L.’s letters <a name="citation243"></a><a +href="#footnote243" class="citation">[243]</a> to his forehead; +and old Wordsworth said of him: ‘If there be a Good Man, +Charles Lamb is one.’</p> +<p>I have been interested in the Memoir and Letters of C. Sumner: +a thoroughly sincere, able, and (I should think) affectionate man +to a few; without Humour, I suppose, or much artistic +Feeling. You might like to look over a slight, and probably +partial, Memoir of A. de Musset, by his Brother, who (whether +well or ill) leaves out the Absinthe, which is generally supposed +to have shortened the Life of that man of Genius. Think of +Clarissa being one of his favourite Books; he could not endure +the modern Parisian Romance. It reminded me of our Tennyson +(who has some likeness, ‘mutatis mutandis’ of French +Morals, Absinthe, etc., to the Frenchman)—of his once +saying to me of Clarissa, ‘I love those large, still, +Books.’</p> +<p>I parted from Doudan with regret; that is, from two volumes of +him; all I had: but I think I see four quoted. That is +pretty, his writing to his Brother, who is dwelling (1870-1) in +some fortified Town, on whose ramparts, now mounted with cannon, +‘I used to gather Violets.’ And I cannot forget +what he says to a Friend at that crisis, ‘Engage in some +long course of Study to drown Trouble in:’ <!-- page +244--><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>and he quotes Ste. Beuve saying, one long Summer Day in +the Country, ‘Lisons tout Madame de +Sévigné.’ You may have to advise me to +some such course before long. I will avoid speaking, or, so +far as I can, thinking, of what I cannot prevent, or alter. +You say you like my Letters: which I say is liking what comes +from this old Country, more yours than mine. I have heard +that some of your People would even secure a Brick, or Stone, +from some old Church here to imbed in some new Church a-building +over the Atlantic. Plenty of such materials might be had, +for this foolish People are restoring, and rebuilding, old +Village Churches that have grown together in their Fields for +Centuries. Only yesterday I wrote to decline helping such a +work on a poor little Church I remember these sixty years. +Well, you like my Letters; I think there is too much of this one; +but I will end, as I believe I began, in praying you not to be at +any trouble in answering it, or any other, from</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours sincerely,<br /> +E. F. G.</p> +<p>Pray read the Scene at Mrs. MacCandlish’s Inn when +Colonel Mannering returns from India to Ellangowan. It is +Shakespeare.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>April</i> 16/1878.</p> +<p>Only a word; to say that yesterday came Squire-Carlyle from +you: and a kind long letter from Mr. <!-- page 245--><a +name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>Lowell: +and—and the first Nightingale, who sang in my Garden the +same song as in Shakespeare’s days: and, before the Day had +closed, Dandie Dinmont came into my room on his visit to young +Bertram in Portanferry Gaol-house.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To J. R. Lowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>April</i> 17/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear</span> (<span class="smcap">Sir +---</span>)—(<span class="smcap">Lowell</span>)?</p> +<p>Your letter reached me just after hearing this year’s +first Nightingale in my Garden: both very welcome. I am +very glad you did not feel bound to answer me before; I should +not write otherwise to you or to some very old Friends who, like +most sensible men as they grow older, dislike all unnecessary +writing more and more. So that I scarce remind them of +myself more than once a year now. I shall feel sure of your +good Will toward me whether you write or not; as I do of +theirs.</p> +<p>Mr. Norton thinks, as a Gentleman should, that Keats’ +Letters should not have been published. I hope I should not +have bought them, had I not gathered from the Reviews that they +were not derogatory to him. You know, I suppose, that she +of whom K. wrote about to others so warmly, his Charmian, was not +Fanny Brawne. Some years ago Lord Houghton wrote me it was: +but he is a busy man of the World, though really a very good +Fellow: indeed, he did not deserve your <i>skit</i> about his +‘Finsbury <!-- page 246--><a name="page246"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 246</span>Circus gentility,’ which I +dare say you have forgotten. I have not seen him, any more +than much older and dearer friends, for these twenty years: never +indeed was very intimate with him; but always found him a good +natured, unaffected, man. He sent me a printed Copy of the +first draught of the opening of Keats’ Hyperion; very +different from the final one: if you wished, I would manage to +send it to you, quarto size as it is. This now reminds me +that I will ask his Lordship why it was not published (as I +suppose it was not). For it ought to be. He said he +did not know if it were not the second draught rather than the +first. But he could hardly have doubted if he gave his +thoughts to it, I think. . . .</p> +<p>I want you to do De Quincey; certainly a very remarkable +Figure in Literature, and not yet decisively drawn, as you could +do it. There is a Memoir of him by one Page, showing a good +deal of his familiar, and Family, Life: all amiable: perhaps the +frailties omitted. It is curious, his regard to Language +even when writing (as quite naturally he does) to his Daughter, +‘I was disturbed last night at finding no natural, or +spontaneous, opening—how barbarous by the way, is this +collision of +<i>ings</i>—find<i>ing</i>—open<i>ing</i>, +etc.’ And some other instances.</p> +<p>I cannot understand why I have not yet taken to Hawthorne, a +Man of real Genius, and that of a kind which I thought I could +relish. I will have another Shot. His Notes of Travel +seemed to me <!-- page 247--><a name="page247"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 247</span>very shrewd, original, and +sincere. Charles Sumner, of so different a Genius, also +appears to me very truthful, and, I still fancy, strongly +attached to the few he might care for. I am sorry he got a +wrong idea of Sir Walter from Lord Brougham, and the Whigs, who +always hated Scott. Indeed (as I well remember) it was a +point of Faith with them that Scott had not written the Novels, +till the Catastrophe discovered him: on which they changed their +Cry into a denunciation of his having written them only for +money, ‘Scott’s weak point,’ Sumner quotes from +Brougham. As if Scott loved Money for anything else than to +spend it: not only on Lands and House (which I maintain were +simply those of a Scotch Gentleman) but to help any poor Devil +that applied to him. Then that old Toad Rogers must tell +Sumner that Manzoni’s ‘Sposi’ were worth any +ten of Scott’s; yes, after Scott’s Diary spoke of +‘I really like Rogers, etc.,’ and such moderate +expressions of regard as Scott felt for him and his Breakfast of +London Wits.</p> +<p>Here am I running over to Chapter II. You will be +surfeited, like your Captain, if not on Turtles’ +Eggs. But you can eat me at intervals, you know, or not at +all. Only you will certainly read my last Great Work, <a +name="citation247"></a><a href="#footnote247" +class="citation">[247]</a> which I enclose, drawn up first for my +own benefit, in reading Lamb’s Letters, as now printed in +batches to his several Correspondents; and so I thought others +than myself might be glad <!-- page 248--><a +name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 248</span>of a few +Data to refer the letters to. Pollock calls my Paper +‘Côtelette d’Agneau à la +minute.’</p> +<p>As to my little Dialogue, I can’t send it: so pretty in +Form, I think, and with some such pretty parts: but then some +odious smart writing, which I had forgotten till I looked it over +again before sending to you. But I will send you the +Calderon which you already like.</p> +<p>And, if you would send me any samples of Spanish, send me some +Playbill (of the old Drama, if now played), or some public +Advertisement, or Newspaper; this is what I should really +like. As to Books, I dare say Quaritch has pretty well +ferreted them out of Spain. Give a look, if you can, at a +Memoir of Alfred de Musset written by his Brother. Making +allowance for French morals, and Absinthe (which latter is not +mentioned in the Book) Alfred appears to me a fine Fellow, very +un-French in some respects. He did not at all relish the +new Romantic School, beginning with V. Hugo, and now alive in --- +and Co.—(what I call The <i>Gurgoyle</i> School of Art, +whether in Poetry, Painting, or Music)—he detested the +modern ‘feuilleton’ Novel, and read Clarissa! . . +. Many years before A. de M. died he had a bad, long, +illness, and was attended by a Sister of Charity. When she +left she gave him a Pen with ‘Pensez à vos +promesses’ worked about in coloured silks: as also a little +worsted ‘Amphore’ she had knitted at his Bed +side. When he came to die, some seventeen years after, he +had these two little things put with him in his Coffin.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 249--><a +name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>May</i> 1878.</p> +<p>Ecce iterum—Crispin! I think you will soon call me +‘<i>Les</i> FitzGerald<i>s</i>’ as Madame de +Sévigné called her too officious friend +‘<i>Les</i> Hacqueville<i>s</i>.’ However, I +will risk that in sending you a Copy of that first Draught of an +opening to Hyperion. I have got it from that Finsbury +Circus Houghton, who gave me the first Copy, which I keep: so you +shall have this, if you please; I know no one more worthy of it; +and indeed I told Lord H. I wanted it for you; so you see he +bears no malice. He is in truth a very good natured fellow. +. . .</p> +<p>Well, to leave that, he writes me that he had the original +MS.: it was stolen from him. Fortunately, a friend of his +(Edmund Lushington) had taken a MS. copy, and from that was +printed what I send you. The corrections are from +Lushington. I do not understand why Lord H. does not +publish it. He says he has just written to Bendizzy to do +something from the state purse for an aged Sister of Keats, now +surviving in great Poverty. Her name is +‘Fanny.’ Ben might do much worse: some say he +is about worse, now: I do not know; I cannot help: and I distress +myself as little as I can. ‘Lisons tout Madame de +Sévigné,’ said Ste. Beuve one day to some +Friends in the Country; and Doudan (whom Mr. Norton admires, as I +do) bids a Friend take that advice in 1871. One may be glad +of it here in England ere 1879.</p> +<p><!-- page 250--><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span>A short while ago we were reading the xith Chapter of +Guy Mannering, where Colonel Mannering returns to Ellangowan +after seventeen years. A long gap in a Story, Scott says: +but scarcely so in Life, to any one who looks back so far. +And, at the end of the Novel, we found a pencil note of mine, +‘Finished 10½ p.m. Tuesday Dec<sup>r</sup>. +17/1861.’ Not on this account, but on account of its +excellence, pray do read the Chapter if you can get the Book: it +is altogether admirable—Cervantes—Shakespeare. +I mean that Chapter of the Colonel’s return to Mrs. +MacCandlish’s Inn at Kippletringan.</p> +<p>We are now reading ‘Among the Spanish People,’ by +the Mr. Rose who wrote ‘Untrodden Spain’; a really +honest, good-hearted, fellow, I think: with some sentimentality +amid his Manhood, and (I suppose) rather too rose-coloured in his +Estimate of the People he has long lived among. But he +can’t help recalling Don Quixote. He has a really +delightful account of a Visit he pays to a <i>pueblo</i> he calls +Baños up the Sierra Morena: one would expect Don and +Sancho there, by one of the old Houses with Arms over the +Door. Pray get hold of this Book also if you can: else +‘les Hacquevilles’ will have to buy it second hand +from Mudie and send—‘Coals to Newcastle.’</p> +<p>With Keats I shall send you an Athenæum with a rather +humorous account of a Cockney squabble about whether Shelley +called his Lark an ‘<i>un</i>-bodied,’ or +‘<i>em</i>-bodied,’ Spirit. I really forget +which way was <!-- page 251--><a name="page251"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 251</span>settled by MS. Shelley is now +the rage in Cockayne; but he is too unsubstantial for me.</p> +<p>It is now hot here: I suppose something [like] February in +Andalusia. Do you find Madrid Climate as bad as Rose and +others describe it? He has also a very pleasant [chapter] +about the Lavanderas of the Manzanares. What delightful +words!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. A. Wright</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1878.]</p> +<p>On looking into my dear old Montaigne, I find a passage which +may have rustled in Shakespeare’s head while doing Othello: +it is about the pleasures of Military Life in the Chapter +‘De l’Expérience’ beginning ‘Il +n’est occupation plaisante comme la militaire, etc.’ +in course of which occurs in Florio, ‘The courageous +<i>minde-stirring</i> harmonic of warlike music, +etc.’ What a funny thing is that closing Apostrophe +to Artillery—but this is not Æsthetic.</p> +<p>Bacon’s appropriation you know of C’est bien +choisir de ne choisir pas’ (De la Vanité, I +<i>think</i>).</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>June</i> 11, [1878]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Wright</span>,</p> +<p>If you do not remember the passage in Bacon’s Essays <a +name="citation251"></a><a href="#footnote251" +class="citation">[251]</a> about ‘not to decide, +etc.’ I must have fancied it. I am glad you +recognize the Othello <!-- page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>bit of Montaigne. You know, as +I know, the nonsense of talking of Shakespeare stealing such +things: one is simply pleased at finding his footsteps in the +Books he read, just as one is in walking over the fields he +walked about Stratford and seeing the Flowers, and hearing the +Birds, he heard and saw, and told of. My Canon is, there is +no plagiarism when he who adopts has proved that he could +originate what he adopts, and a great deal more: which certainly +absolves Shakespeare from any such Charge—even ‘The +Cloud capt Towers, etc.’ That Passage in Othello +about the Propontic and the Hellespont, was, I have read, an +afterthought, after reading some Travel: and, like so many +Afterthoughts, I must think, a Blunder: breaking the Torrent of +Passion with a piece of Natural History. One observes it +particularly when acted: the actor down on his Knees, etc. +Were I to act Othello (there’d be many a Bellow</p> +<blockquote><p>From Pit, Boxes, etc., on that occasion) <a +name="citation252"></a><a href="#footnote252" +class="citation">[252]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>I should leave out the passage. . . .</p> +<p>An answer from Carlyle’s Niece to my half-yearly enquiry +tells me that he is well, and hardy, and reading Goethe which he +never tires of: glancing over Reviews which he calls +‘Floods of Nonsense,’ etc. I sent them +Groome’s ‘Only Darter,’ which I think so good +that I shall get him to let me print it for others beside those +of the Ipswich Journal: it seems to me a beautiful Suffolk +‘Idyll’ (why not <!-- page 253--><a +name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +253</span><i>Ei</i>dyll?) and so it seemed to those at +Chelsea. By the by, I will send you their Note, if Groome +returns it to me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i> 2/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>You wrote me a very kind Invitation—to your own +home—in America! But it is all too late for that; +more on account of habit than time of life: I will not repeat +what I feel sure I have told you before on that subject. +You will be more interested by the enclosed note: of which this +is the simple Story. Some three weeks ago I wrote my +half-yearly note of enquiry to Carlyle’s Niece; he was, she +said, quite well; walking by the river before Breakfast: driving +out of an Afternoon: constantly reading: just then reading Goethe +of whom he never tired: and glancing over Magazines and Reviews +which he called ‘Floods of Nonsense, Cataracts of +Twaddle,’ etc. I had sent him the enclosed paper, <a +name="citation253"></a><a href="#footnote253" +class="citation">[253]</a> written by a Suffolk Archdeacon for +his Son’s East Anglian Notes and Queries: and now +reprinted, with his permission, by me, for the benefit of others, +yourself among the number. Can you make out the lingo, and +see what I think the pretty Idyll it tells of? If I were in +America, at your home, I would recite it to you; nay, were the +Telephone prepared across <!-- page 254--><a +name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>the +Atlantic! Well: it was sent, as I say, to Carlyle: who, by +what his Niece replied, I suppose liked it too. And, by way +of return, I suppose, he sends me a Volume of Norway Kings and +Knox: which I was very glad to have, not only as a token of his +Good Will, but also because Knox was, I believe, the only one of +his works I had not read. And I was obliged to confess to +him in my acknowledgment of his kindly Present, that I relished +these two children of his old Age as much as any of his more +fiery Manhood. I had previously asked if he knew anything +of John Wesley’s Journal, which I was then re-perusing; as +he his Goethe: yes, he knew that Wesley too, and ‘thought +as I did about it’ his Niece said; and in reply to my +Question if he knew anything of two ‘mountains’ (as +English people called hills a hundred years ago) which Wesley +says were called ‘The Peas’ at Dunbar <a +name="citation254"></a><a href="#footnote254" +class="citation">[254]</a>—why, here is his Answer: +evincing the young Blood in the old Man still.</p> +<p>Wesley’s Journal is very well worth reading, and having; +not only as an outline of his own singular character, but of the +conditions of England, Ireland, and Scotland, in the last +Century. Voilà par exemple un Livre dont +Mons<sup>r</sup> Lowell pourrait faire une jolie critique, +s’il en voudrait, mais il s’occupe de plus grandes +choses, du Calderon, du Cervantes. I always wish to run on +in bad French: but my friends would not care to read it. +But pray make acquaintance <!-- page 255--><a +name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>with this +Wesley; if you cannot find a copy in America, I will send you one +from here: I believe I have given it to half a dozen +Friends. Had I any interest with Publishers, I would get +them to reprint parts of it, as of my old Crabbe, who still +sticks in my Throat.</p> +<p>I have taken that single little Lodging at Dunwich for the +next three months, and shall soon be under those Priory Walls +again. But the poor little ‘Dunwich Rose,’ +brought by those monks from the North Country, will have passed, +after the hot weather we are at last having. Write when you +will, and not till then; I believe in your friendly regard, with, +or without, a Letter to assure me of it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>October</i> 15/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I got little more than a Fortnight at that old Dunwich; +for my Landlady took seriously ill, and finally died: and the +Friend <a name="citation255a"></a><a href="#footnote255a" +class="citation">[255a]</a> whom I went to meet there became so +seriously ill also as to be obliged to return to London before +August was over. So then I went to an ugly place <a +name="citation255b"></a><a href="#footnote255b" +class="citation">[255b]</a> on the sea shore also, some fifteen +miles off the old Priory; and there was with some Nephews and +Nieces, trying to read the Novels from a Circulating Library with +indifferent Success. And now here am I at home once more; +getting my Garden, if not my House, in order; and here I shall +<!-- page 256--><a name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +256</span>be probably all Winter, except for a few days visit to +that sick Friend in London, if he desires it. . . .</p> +<p>We too have been having a Fortnight of delightful weather, so +as one has been able to sit abroad all the Day. And now, +that Spirit which Tennyson sung of in one of his early Poems is +heard, as it were, walking and talking to himself among the +decaying flower-beds. This Season (such as we have been +enjoying)—my old Crabbe sings of it too, in a very pathetic +way to me: for it always seems to me an Image of the Decline of +Life also.</p> +<blockquote><p>It was a Day ere yet the Autumn closed,<br /> +When Earth before her Winter’s War reposed;<br /> +When from the Garden as we look’d above,<br /> +No Cloud was seen, and nothing seem’d to move;<br /> +[When the wide River was a silver Sheet,<br /> +And upon Ocean slept the unanchored fleet;] <a +name="citation256a"></a><a href="#footnote256a" +class="citation">[256a]</a><br /> +When the wing’d Insect settled in our sight,<br /> +And waited wind to recommence its flight. <a +name="citation256b"></a><a href="#footnote256b" +class="citation">[256b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>You see I cross out two lines which, fine as they are, go +beyond the Garden: but I am not sure if I place them +aright. The two last lines you will feel, I think: for I +suppose some such Insect is in America too. (You must not +mind Crabbe’s self-contradiction about ‘nothing +moving.’) . . .</p> +<p>I have two Letters I want to send Lowell: but I do not like +writing as if to extort answers from him. <!-- page +257--><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>You see Carlyle’s Note within: I do not want it +back, thank you. Good night: for Night it is: and my Reader +is coming. We look forward to The Lammermoor, and Old +Mortality before long. I made another vain attempt on +George Eliot at Lowestoft, Middlemarch.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To J. R. Lowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Octr.</i> 17/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I scarce like to write to you again because of seeming to +exact a Letter. I do not wish that at all, pray believe it: +I don’t think letter-writing men are much worth. What +puts me up to writing just now is, the enclosed two Letters by +other men; one of them relating to yourself; the other to the +Spain you are now in. I sent Frederic Tennyson, eldest +Brother of the Laureate, your Study Windows: and now you see what +he says about it. He is a Poet too, as indeed all the +Brethren more or less are; and is <i>a Poet</i>: only with (I +think) a somewhat monotonous Lyre. But a very noble Man in +all respects, and one whose good opinion is worth having, however +little you read, or care for, opinion about yourself, one way or +other. I do not say that I agree with all he says: but here +is his Letter. I am going to send him a Volume of yours +‘Among my Books,’ which I know is a maturer work than +the Windows; and you know what I think of it.</p> +<p><!-- page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +258</span>The other Letter, or piece of Letter, is from our +Professor Cowell, and has surely a good Suggestion concerning a +Spanish Dictionary. You might put some Spanish Scholar on +the scent. And so much about my two Letters.</p> +<p>I was but little at my old Dunwich this Summer, for my +Landlady fell sick, and died: and the Friend I went to be with +was obliged to leave; I doubt his Brain is becoming another Ruin +to be associated with that old Priory wall, already so pathetic +to me. So here am I back again at my old Desk for all the +Winter, I suppose, with my old Crabbe once more open before me, +disembowelled too; for I positively meditate a Volume made up of +‘Readings’ from his Tales of the Hall, that is, all +his better Verse connected with as few words of my own Prose as +will connect it intelligibly together.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Decr.</i> 15/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>You are very good to ask for my <i>Œdipodes</i>, +etc. And when I can find Eyes as well as Courage to copy +out a ‘<i>brouillon</i>,’ I will see what can be +done. Only, you and Professor Goodwin must not feel any way +bound to print them, even if you both approved of them; and that +is not at all certain. How would you two Scholars approve +of two whole Scenes omitted in either Œdipus (as I know to +be the <!-- page 259--><a name="page259"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 259</span>case), and the Choephori <a +name="citation259a"></a><a href="#footnote259a" +class="citation">[259a]</a> reduced almost to an Act? So +that would be, I doubt. Then, as you know, Sophocles does +not strike Fire out of the Flint, as old Æschylus does; and +though my Sophocles has lain by me (lookt at now and then) these +ten years, I was then a dozen years older than when Agamemnon +haunted me, until I laid his Ghost so far as I myself was +concerned. By the way, I see that Dr. Kennedy, Professor of +Greek at our Cambridge, has published a Translation of Agamemnon +in ‘rhythmic English.’ So, at any rate, I have +been the cause of waking up two great men (Browning and Kennedy) +and a minor Third (I forget his name) <a +name="citation259b"></a><a href="#footnote259b" +class="citation">[259b]</a> to the Trial, if it were only for the +purpose of extinguishing my rash attempt. However that may +be, I cannot say my attempt on Sophocles would please you and my +American Patrons (in England I have none) so well as +Æschylus; indeed I only see in what I remember to have +done, good English, and fair Verse, beyond the chief merit of +shaping the Plays to modern Taste by the very excisions which +Scholars will most deprecate. However, you shall see, one +day. . . .</p> +<p>I want to send you a very little volume by Charles Tennyson, +long ago published: too modest to make a noise: worth not only +all me, but all ---, ---, & Co. put together. Three +such little volumes have appeared, but just appeared; like +Violets, I say: to be overlooked by the <!-- page 260--><a +name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +260</span>‘madding Crowd,’ but I believe to smell +sweet and blossom when all the gaudy Growths now in fashion are +faded and gone. He ought to be known in +America—everywhere; is he?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To J. R. Lowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Decr.</i> 19/78.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I am writing to you because you say you like to hear from +me. I dare say, a Letter from your home, or mine, is +acceptable in Madrid, which, by the by, if Travellers’ +Stories be true, must be terrible this winter: and I always try +to stuff my Letters with all I can about other people more or +less worth hearing of. But for that I have but little to +say, certainly nothing worth your keeping. But if you like +me to write, no matter why. I wish I could find you a short +Letter written to me this time last year by C. Merivale, Dean of +Ely, Roman Historian; a man of infinite dry humour, and quaint +fancy. I have put it away in some safe place where (of +course) I can’t find it. Perhaps the like may happen +to yourself now and then. I tell him that some one should +pick up his Table-talk and Letter-talk: for he of course would +not do it himself. I have known him from College days, +fifty years ago; but have never read his History: never having +read any History but Herodotus, I believe. But <!-- page +261--><a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 261</span>I +should like you to see how an English Dean and Roman Historian +can write in spite of Toga and Canonicals.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>December</i> 22.</p> +<p>I left off when my Reader came to finish The Bride of +Lammermoor; as wonderful to me as ever. O, the Austens, +Eliots, and even Thackerays, won’t eclipse Sir Walter for +long.</p> +<p>To come down rather a little from him, my Calderon, which you +speak of—very many beside myself, with as much fair +Dramatic Spirit, knowledge of good English and English Verse, +would do quite as well as you think I do, if they would not +hamper themselves with Forms of Verse, and Thought, +irreconcilable with English Language and English Ways of +Thinking. I am persuaded that, to keep Life in the Work (as +Drama must) the Translator (however inferior to his Original) +must re-cast that original into his own Likeness, more or less: +the less like his original, so much the worse: but still, the +live Dog better than the dead Lion; in Drama, I say. As to +Epic, is not Cary still the best Dante? Cowper and Pope +were both Men of Genius, out of my Sphere; but whose Homer still +holds its own? The elaborately exact, or the +‘teacup-time’ Parody? Is not Fairfax’ +Tasso good? I never read Harington’s Ariosto, English +or Italian. Another shot have I made <!-- page 262--><a +name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 262</span>at Faust in +Bayard Taylor’s Version: but I do not even get on with him +as with Hayward, hampered as he (Taylor) is with his allegiance +to original metres, etc. His Notes I was interested in: but +I shall die ungoethed, I doubt, so far as Poetry goes: I always +believe he was Philosopher and Critic.</p> +<p>But, harking back to Calderon, surely you have seen the +‘Mágico’ printed from the Duc +d’Osuna’s original MS., with many variations from the +text as we have it. This volume is edited, in French, by +‘Alfred Morel Fatio,’ printed at +‘Heilbronn’ (wherever that is), and to be bought of +‘M. Murillo, Calle de Alcalá, Num. 18, +Madrid.’ It contains a Facsimile of the old +Boy’s MS. I will send you my Copy if there be +‘no Coal in Newcastle.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>May</i> 18/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>It is over six months, I believe, since we exchanged a letter; +mine the last shot: which I mention only because that has been my +reason for not writing again till I should hear from you that all +was well enough with you and yours to justify my writing an idle +letter. You have spoken of an aged Mother:—if your +Winter has been such as ours! And not over yet, as scarce a +<!-- page 263--><a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +263</span>leaf on the trees, and a N. E. wind blowing Cold, +Cough, Bronchitis, etc., and the confounded Bell of a +neighbouring Church announcing a Death, day after day. I +certainly never remember so long, and so mortal a Winter: among +young as well as old. Among the latter, I have just lost my +elder, and only surviving Brother. But I shall close this +Bill of Mortality before turning over the leaf.</p> +<p>Well: it is Mr. Clarke’s pamphlet which has encouraged +me to ‘take up the pen,’ for I think it was you who +sent it to me. All I am qualified to say about it is, that +it is very well and earnestly written; but on a Subject, like +your own Olympia, that I am no Judge of. I think of +forwarding it to Cowell at our Cambridge, who is a Judge of +Everything, I think, while pretending to Nothing. . . .</p> +<p>This reminds me of all the pains he bestowed on me five and +twenty years ago; of which the result is one final Edition of +Omar and Jámí. . . . Omar remains as he was; +Jámí (Salámán) is cut down to +two-thirds of his former proportion, and very much improved, I +think. It is still in a wrong key: Verse of Miltonic +strain, unlike the simple Eastern; I remember trying that at +first, but could not succeed. So there is little but the +Allegory itself (not a bad one), and now condensed into a very +fair Bird’s Eye view; quite enough for any Allegory, I +think. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 264--><a name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +264</span>And—(this Letter is to be all about +myself)—by this post I send you my Handbook of +Crabbe’s Tales of the Hall, of which I am so doubtful that +I do not yet care to publish it. I wished to draw a few +readers to a Book which nobody reads, by an Abstract of the most +readable Parts connected with as little of my Prose as would tell +the story of much prosaic Verse, but that very amount of prosy +Verse may help to soak the story into the mind (as Richardson, +etc.) in a way that my more readable Abstract does not. So +it may only serve to remind any one of a Book—which he +never read! The Original must be more obsolete in America +than here in England; however, I should like to know what you +make of it: and you see that you may tell me very plainly, for it +is not as an Author, but only as Author’s Showman that I +appear.</p> +<p>It is rather shameful to take another Sheet because of almost +filling the first with myself. And I have but little to +tell in it. Carlyle I have not heard of for these six +months: nor Tennyson: I must write to hear how they have +weathered this mortal Winter. Tennyson’s elder, not +eldest, Brother Charles is dead: and I was writing only yesterday +to persuade Spedding to insist on Macmillan publishing a complete +edition of Charles’ Sonnets: graceful, tender, beautiful, +and quite original, little things. Two thirds of them would +be enough: but no one can select <!-- page 265--><a +name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 265</span>in such a +case, you know. I have been reading again your +Hawthorne’s Journal in England when he was Consul here; +this I have: I cannot get his ‘Our old Home,’ nor his +Foreign Notes: can you send me any small, handy, Edition of these +two last? I delight in them because of their fearless +Truthfulness as well as for their Genius. I have just taken +down his Novels, or Romances, to read again, and try to relish +more than I have yet done; but I feel sure the fault must be with +me, as I feel about Goethe, who is yet as sealed a Book to me as +ever. . . . I have (alas!) got through all Sir +Walter’s Scotch Novels this winter, even venturing further +on Kenilworth: which is wonderful for Plot: and one scene, +Elizabeth reconciling her Rival Earls at Greenwich, seeming to me +as good as Shakespeare’s Henry VIII., which is mainly +Fletcher’s, I am told. I have heard nothing of Mr. +Lowell since I heard of you, and do think that I will pitch him a +Crabbe into the midst of Madrid, if he be still there. +(N.B. Some of Crabbe is not in the Text but from MS. first +(and best) readings printed in the Son’s edition.)</p> +<p>The Nightingale is now telling me that he is not dead.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 266--><a +name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span><i>To J. R. +Lowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>May</i> 20/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>By this post I send you a bit of a Book, in which you see that +I only play very second Fiddle. It is not published yet, as +I wait for a few friends to tell me if it be worth publishing, or +better kept among ourselves, who know Crabbe as well as +myself. You could tell me better than any one, only that I +doubt if any Transatlantic Man can care, even if he knows of a +Writer whose Books are all but unread by his own Countrymen, so +obsolete has become his Subject (in this Book) as well as his way +of treating it. So I think I may exonerate you from giving +an opinion, and will only send it to you for such amusement as it +may afford you in your Exile. I fancied I could make a +pleasant Abstract of a much too long and clumsy Book, and draw a +few Readers to the well-nigh forgotten Author. But, on +looking over my little work, I doubt that my short and readable +Handybook will not leave any such impression as the long, rather +un-readable, original; mere length having, you know, the inherent +Virtue of soaking it in: so as my Book will scarce do but as a +reminder of the original, which nobody reads! . . .</p> +<p>Voilà assez sur ce sujet là. I think that +you <!-- page 267--><a name="page267"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 267</span>will one day give us an account of +your Spanish Consulship, as Hawthorne did of his English: a noble +Book which I have just been reading over again. His +‘Our old Home’ is out of print here; and I have asked +Mr. Norton to send me any handy Edition of it, as also of the +Italian Journal, my Copies having been lent out past +recovery. I am going to begin again with his Scarlet Letter +and Seven Gables; which (oddly to myself) I did not take +to. And yet I think they are not out of my line, or reach, +I ought to say.</p> +<p>We have had such a long, and mortal Winter as never do I +remember in my seventy years, which struck 70 on March 31 +last. I have just lost a Brother—75. Proximus +ardet, etc. But I escaped through all these seven months +Winter, till a week or ten days ago, when a South Wind and +Sunshine came for a Day, and one expatiated abroad, and then down +comes a North Easter, etc. I was like the Soldier in +Crabbe’s Old Bachelor (now with you), who compares himself +to the Soldier stricken by a random Shot, when resting on his +Arms, etc. <a name="citation267"></a><a href="#footnote267" +class="citation">[267]</a> So Cold, Cough, Bronchitis, +etc. And To-day Sunshine again, and Ruiseñor (do you +know him?) in my Shrubs only just be-greening, and I am a +Butterfly again. I have heard nothing of Carlyles, +Tennysons, etc., save that the latter had written some Ballad +about Lucknow. I shall be glad to hear a word of <!-- page +268--><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +268</span>yourself, Calderon, and Don Quixote, the latter of whom +σαίνει με from my +Bookshelf. Yes, yes, I am soon coming.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>June</i> 13/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I had just written a Letter to Tennyson, a thing I had not +done these two years, when one was brought to me with what I +thought his Subscription, which I have not seen for twice two +years, I suppose. Well, but the Letter was from you. +I ought not to write again so quick: but you know I never exact a +Reply: especially as you never will answer what I ask you, which +I rather admire too. To be sure you have so much filled +your Letter with my Crabbe that you have told me nothing of +yourself, Calderon, and Cervantes, both of whom, I suppose, are +fermenting, and maturing, in your head. Cowell says he will +come to this coast this Summer with Don Quixote that we may read +him together: so, if you should come, you will find yourself at +home. I have said all I can say about your taking any such +trouble as coming down here only to shake hands with me, as you +talk of. I never make any sort of ‘hospitality’ +to the few who ever do come this way, but just put a fowl in the +Pot (as Don Quixote’s <i>ama</i> might do), and hire a +Shandrydan for a Drive, or a Boat on the river, and ‘There +<!-- page 269--><a name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +269</span>you are,’ as one of Dickens’ pleasant young +fellows says. But I never can ask any one to come, and out +of his way, to see me, a very ancient, and solitary, Bird +indeed. But you know all about it. ‘Parlons +d’autres choses,’ as Sévigné says.</p> +<p>I was curious to know what an American, and of your Quality, +would say of Crabbe. The manner and topics (Whig, Tory, +etc.) are almost obsolete in this country, though I remember them +well: how then must they appear to you and yours? The +‘Ceremoniousness’ you speak of is overdone for +Crabbe’s time: he overdid it in his familiar intercourse, +so as to disappoint everybody who expected ‘Nature’s +sternest Poet,’ etc.; but he was all the while +observing. I know not why he persists in his Thee and Thou, +which certainly Country Squires did not talk of, except for an +occasional Joke, at the time his Poem dates from, 1819: and I +warned my Readers in that stillborn Preface to change that form +into simple ‘You.’ If this Book leaves a +melancholy impression on you, what then would all his +others? Leslie Stephen says his Humour is heavy +(Q<sup>y</sup> is not his Tragedy?), and wonders how Miss Austen +could admire him as it appears she did; and you discern a +relation between her and him. I find plenty of grave humour +in this Book: in the Spinster, the Bachelor, the Widow, +etc. All which I pointed out (in the still-born) to L. S. . +. . He <!-- page 270--><a name="page270"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 270</span>says too that Crabbe is +‘incapable of Epigram,’ which also you do not agree +in; Epigrams more of Humour than Wit; sometimes only hinted, as +in those two last lines of that disagreeable, and rather +incomprehensible Sir Owen Dale. I think he will do in the +land of Cervantes still.</p> +<p>When my Copy of Tennyson’s Lover’s Tale comes home +I will send it to you. . . . As to Gray—Ah, to think +of that little Elegy inscribed among the Stars, while ---, --- +& Co., are blazing away with their Fireworks here +below. I always think that there is more Genius in most of +the three volume Novels than in Gray: but by the most exquisite +Taste, and indefatigable lubrication, he made of his own few +thoughts, and many of other men’s, a something which we all +love to keep ever about us. <a name="citation270"></a><a +href="#footnote270" class="citation">[270]</a> I do not +think his scarcity of work was from Design: he had but a little +to say, I believe, and took his time to say it. . . .</p> +<p>Only think of old Carlyle, who was very feeble indeed during +the winter, having read through all Shakespeare to himself during +these latter Spring months. So his Niece writes me. I +do not hear of his doing the like by his Goethe.</p> +<p><!-- page 271--><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +271</span>I had another shot at your Hawthorne, a Man of fifty +times Gray’s Genius, but I could not take to him. +Painfully microscopic and elaborate on dismal subjects, I still +thought: but I am quite ready to admit that (as in Goethe’s +case) the fault lies in me. I think I have a good feeling +for such things; but ‘non omnia possumus, etc.;’ some +Screw loose. ‘C’est égal.’ +That is a serviceable word for so much.</p> +<p>Now have I any more that turns up for this wonderful +Letter? I should put it in, for I do think it might amuse +you in Madrid. But nothing does turn up this Evening. +Tea, and a Walk on our River bank, and then, what do you +think? An hour’s reading (to me) of a very celebrated +Murder which I remember just thirty years ago at Norwich: then +‘Ten minutes’ Refreshment’; and then, Nicholas +Nickleby! Then one Pipe: and then to Bed. Yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p>This Letter shall sleep a night too before Travelling. +Next Morning. Revenons à notre Crabbe. +‘Principles and Pew’ very bad. ‘The +Flowers, etc., cut by busy hands, etc.,’ are, or were, +common on the leaden roofs of old Houses, Churches, etc. I +made him stop at ‘Till the Does ventured on our +Solitude,’ <a name="citation271"></a><a href="#footnote271" +class="citation">[271]</a> without adding ‘<i>We were so +still</i>!’—which is quite ‘de +trop.’ You will see by the enclosed prefatory Notice +what I have done in the matter, as little as I <!-- page 272--><a +name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 272</span>could in +doing what was to be done. My own Copy is full of +improvements. Yes, for any Poetaster may improve +three-fourths of the careless old Fellow’s Verse: but it +would puzzle a Poet to improve the better part. I think +that Crabbe differs from Pope in this thing for one: that he aims +at Truth, not at Wit, in his Epigram. How almost graceful +he can sometimes be too!</p> +<blockquote><p>What we beheld in Love’s perspective +Glass<br /> +Has pass’d away—one Sigh! and let it pass. <a +name="citation272"></a><a href="#footnote272" +class="citation">[272]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>. <i>August</i> 20/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>Mr. Norton wrote me that you had been detained in Spain by +Mrs. Lowell’s severe, nay, dangerous, illness; a very great +affliction to you. I venture a bit of a Letter, which you +are not to answer, even by a word; no, not even read further than +now you have got, unless a better day has dawned on you, and +unless you feel wholly at liberty to write. I should be +very glad to hear, in ever so few words, that your anxiety was +over.</p> +<p>I do not think I shall make a long letter of this; for I do +not think of much that can amuse you in the least, even if you +should be open to such sort of amusement as I could give +you. I am come here to be a month with my friend Cowell; he +and I are reading the Second Part of Don Quixote together, as we +used to read together thirty years ago; he always <!-- page +273--><a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +273</span>the Teacher, and I the Pupil, although he is quite +unaware of that Relation between us; indeed, rather reverses +it. It so happens that he is not so well acquainted with +this Second Part as with the First; indeed not so well with the +Story of it as I, but then he is so much a better Scholar in all +ways that he lights up passages of the Book in a way that is all +new to me. Some of the strange words reminded me again of +his wish for a Spanish Dictionary in the style of +Littré’s French: he would assuredly be the Man to do +it, but he has his Sanskrit Professorship to mind.</p> +<p>There is a Book rather worth reading called ‘On Foot +through Spain’; <a name="citation273"></a><a +href="#footnote273" class="citation">[273]</a> meaning, as much +of Spain as extends from St. Sebastian on the Bay of Biscay to +Barcelona on the Mediterranean; with a good deal of Cervantesque +Ventas, Carreteros, etc., in it. There is an account of the +Obsequies of <span class="smcap">Pau Pi</span> (Basque?) on the +last Day of Carnival at Saragossa, which reminded me of the +‘Cortes de Muerte,’ etc. Hawthorne (whose +admirable Italian Journal I brought with me here) says that +originally the Italian Carnival ended with somewhat of the same +Burlesque Ceremonial, but was thought to mimic too Graciosoly +that of the Church. I believe the Moccoli, etc., are a +remainder of it.</p> +<p>‘Eso allá se ha de entender, respondió +Sancho, con los <i>que naciéron en las malvas</i>’ +(<span class="smcap">ii</span>. c. 4), made my Master jump at +once to Job <span class="smcap">xxx</span>. 4.</p> +<p><!-- page 274--><a name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +274</span>I cannot but suppose that you are gradually gathering +materials for some Essay on Spanish Literature, and it is a rare +Quality in these days to be in no hurry about such work, but to +wait till one can do it thoroughly; as is the case with +you. I suppose you know Lope: of whom I have read, and now +shall read, nothing: even Cowell, who has read some, is not much +interested in him. He delights in Calderon, of whom he has +one thick Volume here, and still finds many obscure passages to +clear up. He was telling me of one about Madrid, <a +name="citation274"></a><a href="#footnote274" +class="citation">[274]</a> which (as you are now there) I must +quote by way of filling up this Second Sheet of Letter. +But, to do this, I must wait till I have been with him for our +morning’s reading, so as I may give it you Chapter and +Verse.</p> +<p>P.S. Here is my Professor’s MS. note for you, +which I told him I wanted to send. We have been reading +Chapters 14-15 of Don Quixote, Second Part. Do you know why +Carrasco finds an <i>Algebrista</i> for his hurts? Why the +Moorish <i>Aljebro</i> = the setting of Fractions, etc. So +said my dear Pundit at once. Ah! you would like to be with +us, for the sake of him, rather than of yours sincerely E. F. +G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 275--><a +name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span><i>To C. E. +Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>. <i>Sept.</i> 3/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I must write you a few lines, on my knee (not, on my knees, +however), in return for your kind letter. As to my thinking +you could be ‘importunate’ in asking again for my two +Sophocles Abstracts, you must know that such importunity cannot +but be grateful. I am only rather ashamed that you should +have to repeat it. I laid the Plays by after looking them +over some months ago, meaning to wait till another year to clear +up some parts, if not all. Thus do my little works arrive +at such form as they result in, good or bad; so as, however I may +be blamed for the liberties I take with the Great, I cannot be +accused of over haste in doing so, though blamed I may be for +rashness in meddling with them at all. Anyhow, I would not +send you any but a fair MS. if I sent MS. at all; and may perhaps +print it in a small way, not to publish, but so as to ensure a +final Revision, such as will also be more fitting for you to +read. It is positively the last of my Works! having been by +me these dozen years, I believe, occasionally looked at. So +much for that.</p> +<p>Now, you would like to be here along with me and my delightful +Cowell, when we read the Second Part of Don Quixote together of a +morning. This we have been doing for three weeks; and shall +continue <!-- page 276--><a name="page276"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 276</span>to do for some ten days more, I +suppose: and then he will be returning to his Cambridge. If +we read very continuously we should be almost through the Book by +this time: but, as you may imagine we play as well as work; some +passage in the dear Book leads Cowell off into Sanskrit, Persian, +or Goody Two Shoes, for all comes within the compass of his +Memory and Application. Job came in to the help of Sancho a +few days ago: and the Duenna Rodriguez’ age brought up a +story Cowell recollected of an old Lady who persisted in +remaining at 50; till being told (by his Mother) that she could +not be elected to a Charity because of not being 64, she said +‘She thought she could manage it’; and the Professor +shakes with Laughter not loud but deep, from the centre. . . +.</p> +<p>Pray read in our Athenæum some letters of Severn’s +about Keats, full of Love and intelligent Admiration, all the +better for coming straight from the heart without any style at +all. If I thought that Mr. Lowell would not find these +Athenæums somewhere in Madrid, I would send them to him, as +I would also to you in a like predicament. . . .</p> +<p>This letter has run on further than I expected: and I am now +going to see Sancho off to his Island, under convoy of my +Professor.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 277--><a +name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 277</span><i>To S. +Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">11 <span class="smcap">Marine +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>.<br /> +<i>Septr.</i> 22/79.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>Your letter found me here this morning: here, where I have now +been near six weeks, for a month of which Edward Cowell and his +Wife were my neighbours; and we had two or three hours of Don +Quixote’s company of a morning, and only ourselves for +company at night. They are gone, however; and I might have +gone to my own home also, but that some Nephews and Nieces wished +to see a little more of me; and I thought also that Lowestoft +would be more amusing than Woodbridge to a young London Clerk, a +Nephew of the Cowells, who comes to me for a short Holyday, when +he can get away from his Desk. But early in October I shall +be back at my old routine, stale enough. I think that, as a +general rule, people should die at 70.</p> +<p>Yes: though Edwards was comparatively a Friend of late +growth—he, and his brave wife—they encountered me +down in my own country here, and we somehow suited one another; +and I feel sad thinking of the pleasant days at Dunwich, which +the Tide now rolling up here will soon reach. <a +name="citation277"></a><a href="#footnote277" +class="citation">[277]</a> . . .</p> +<p>I am here re-reading Forster’s Life of Dickens, <!-- +page 278--><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +278</span>which seems to me a very good Book, though people say, +I believe, there is too much Forster in it. At any rate, +there is enough to show the wonderful Dæmonic Dickens: as +pure an instance of Genius as ever lived; and, it seems to me, a +Man I can love also.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Sentence from a Letter written +to Prof. Norton Feb.</i> 22/80.</p> +<p>‘I cannot yet get the 2nd Part (Coloneus) to fit as I +wish to the first: finding (what I never doubted) that nothing is +less true than Goethe’s saying that these two Plays and +Antigone must be read in Sequence, as a Trilogy.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>March</i> 4, 1880.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>Herewith you will receive, I suppose, Part I. of Œdipus, +which I found on my return here after a week’s +absence. I really hope you will like it, after taking the +trouble more than once to ask for it: only (according to my +laudable rule of Give or Take in such cases) say no more of it to +me than to point out anything amendable: for which, you see, I +leave a wide margin, for my own behoof as well as my +reader’s. And again I will say that I wish you would +keep it wholly to yourself: and, above all, not <!-- page +279--><a name="page279"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +279</span>let a word about it cross the Atlantic. I will +not send a Copy even to Professor Goodwin, to whom you can show +yours, if he should happen to mention the subject; nor will I +send one to Mrs. Kemble, the only other whom I had thought +of. In short, you, my dear Sir, are the only Depository of +this precious Document, which I would have you keep as though it +were very precious indeed.</p> +<p>You will see at once that it is not even a Paraphrase, but an +Adaptation, of the Original: not as more adapted to an Athenian +Audience 400 years <span class="smcap">b.c.</span> but to a +merely English Reader 1800 years <span +class="smcap">a.d.</span> Some dropt stitches in the Story, +not considered by the old Genius of those days, I have, I think, +‘taken up,’ as any little Dramatist of these Days can +do: though the fundamental absurdity of the Plot (equal to Tom +Jones according to Coleridge!) remains; namely, that +Œdipus, after so many years reigning in Thebes as to have a +Family about him, should apparently never have heard of +Laius’ murder till the Play begins. One acceptable +thing I have done, I think, omitting very much rhetorical fuss +about the poor man’s Fatality, which I leave for the Action +itself to discover; as also a good deal of that rhetorical +Scolding, which, I think, becomes tiresome even in its Greek: as +the Scene between Œdipus and Creon after Tiresias: and +equally unreasonable. The Choruses which I believe are +thought fine by Scholars, I have left to old Potter to supply, as +I was hopeless of making anything of them; pasting, <!-- page +280--><a name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +280</span>you see, his ‘Finale’ over that which I had +tried.</p> +<p>I believe that I must leave Part II. for the present, being +rather wearied with the present stupendous Effort, at Ætat. +71. If I live another year, and am still free from the ills +incident to my Time, I will make an end of it, and of all my +Doings in that way.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Charles Keene</i>. <a +name="citation280a"></a><a href="#footnote280a" +class="citation">[280a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Keene</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Beckford’s Hunting is an old friend of mine: +excellently written; such a relief (like Wesley and the religious +men) to the Essayist style of the time. Do not fail to read +the capital Squire’s Letter in recommendation of a +Stable-man, dated from Great Addington, Northants, 1734: of which +some little is omitted after Edition I.; which edition has also a +Letter from Beckford’s Huntsman about a wicked +‘Daufter,’ wholly omitted. This first Edition +is a pretty small 4to 1781, with a Frontispiece by Cipriani! . . +.</p> +<p>If you come down this Spring, but not before May, I will show +you some of these things in a Book <a name="citation280b"></a><a +href="#footnote280b" class="citation">[280b]</a> I have, which I +might call ‘Half Hours with the Worst Authors,’ and +very fine things by them. It would be the very best Book of +the sort ever published, <!-- page 281--><a +name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 281</span>if +published; but no one would think so but myself, and perhaps you, +and half a dozen more. If my Eyes hold out I will copy a +delightful bit by way of return for your Ballad.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 1, 1880.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I must thank you for the Crabbe Review <a +name="citation281"></a><a href="#footnote281" +class="citation">[281]</a> you sent me, though, had it been your +own writing, I should probably not tell you how very good I think +it. I am somewhat disappointed that Mr. Woodberry dismisses +Crabbe’s ‘Trials at Humour’ as summarily as Mr. +Leslie Stephen does; it was mainly for the Humour’s sake +that I made my little work: Humour so evident to me in so many of +the Tales (and Conversations), and which I meant to try and get a +hearing for in the short Preface I had written in case the Book +had been published. I thought these Tales showed the +‘stern Painter’ softened by his Grand Climacteric, +removed from the gloom and sadness of his early associations, and +looking to the Follies rather than to the Vices of Men, and +treating them often in something of a Molière way, only +with some pathetic humour mixt, so as these Tales were almost the +only one of his Works which left an agreeable impression behind +them. But if so good a Judge as <!-- page 282--><a +name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>Mr. +Woodberry does not see all this, I certainly could not have +persuaded John Bull to see it: and perhaps am wrong myself in +seeing what is not there. I doubt not that Mr. Woodberry is +quite right in what he says of Crabbe not having Imagination to +draw that Soul from Nature of which he enumerates the phenomena: +but he at any rate does so enumerate and select them as to +suggest something more to his Reader, something more than mere +catalogue could suggest. He may go yet further in such a +description, as that other Autumnal one in ‘Delay has +Danger,’ beginning—</p> +<blockquote><p>Early he rose, and look’d with many a +sigh,<br /> +On the red Light that fill’d the Eastern sky, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Where, as he says, the Decay and gloom of Nature seem +reflected in—nay, as it were, to take a reflection +from—the Hero’s troubled Soul. In the Autumn +Scene which Mr. Woodberry quotes, <a name="citation282"></a><a +href="#footnote282" class="citation">[282]</a> and contrasts with +those of other more imaginative Poets, would not a more +imaginative representation of the scene have been out of +character with the English Country Squire who sees and reflects +on it? As would have been more evident if Mr. W. had quoted +a line or two further—</p> +<blockquote><p>While the dead foliage dropt from loftier trees<br +/> +The Squire beheld not with his wonted ease,<br /> +But to his own reflections made reply,<br /> +And said aloud—‘Yes, doubtless we must +die.’</p> +<p>οίη περ +φυλλων +yενεη—</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +283</span>This Dramatic Picture touches me more than Mr. +Arnold.</p> +<p>One thing more I will say, that I do not know where old +Wordsworth condemned Crabbe as un-poetical (except in the truly +‘priggish’ candle case) though I doubt not that Mr. +Woodberry does know. We all know that of Crabbe’s +‘Village’ one passage was one of the first that +struck young Wordsworth: and when Crabbe’s son was editing +his Father’s Poems in 1834, old Wordsworth wrote to him +that, because of their combined Truth and Poetry, those Poems +would last as long at least as any that had been written since, +including Wordsworth’s own. And Wordsworth was too +honest, as well as too exclusive, to write so much even to a Son +of the dead Poet, without meaning all he said.</p> +<p>I should not have written all this were it not that I think so +much of Mr. Woodberry’s Paper; but I doubt I could not +persuade him to think more of my old Man than he sees good to +think for himself. I rejoice that he thinks even so well of +the Poet: even if his modified Praise does not induce others to +try and think likewise. The verses he quotes—</p> +<blockquote><p>Where is that virtue which the generous boy, etc. +<a name="citation283"></a><a href="#footnote283" +class="citation">[283]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>made my heart glow—yes, even out at my Eyes—though +so familiar to me. Only in my private Copy, instead of</p> +<blockquote><p>When Vice had triumph—<i>who his tear +bestow’d</i><br /> +On injured merit—</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 284--><a name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +284</span>in place of that ‘<i>bestowed Tear</i>,’ I +cannot help reading</p> +<blockquote><p>When Vice and Insolence in triumph rode, etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>which is, of course, only for myself, and you, it seems: for I +never mentioned that, and some scores of such impudencies.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To R. C. Trench</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>May</i> 9/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lord</span>,</p> +<p>You are old enough, like myself, to remember People reading +and talking of Crabbe. I know not if you did so yourself; +but you know that no one, unless as old as ourselves, does so +now. As he has always been one of my Apollos, in spite of +so many a cracked string, I wanted to get a few others to listen +a little as I did; and so printed the Volume which I send you: +printed it, not by way of improving, or superseding, the +original, but to entice some to read the original in all its +length, and (one must say) uncouth and wearisome +‘<i>longueurs</i>’ and want of what is now called +‘Art.’ These Tales are perhaps as open to that +charge as any of his; and, moreover, not principally made up of +that ‘sternest’ stuff which Byron celebrated as being +most characteristic of him. When writing these Tales, the +Poet had reached his Grand Climacteric, and liked to look on +somewhat of the sunnier side of things; more on the Comedy than +the Tragedy of Human Life: and <!-- page 285--><a +name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 285</span>hence these +Tales are, with all their faults, the one work of his which +leaves me (ten years past my Grand Climacteric also) with a +pleasant Impression. So I tried to make others think; but I +was told by Friends whose Judgment I could trust that no Public +would listen to me. . . . And so I paid for my printing, +and kept my Book to be given away to some few as old as myself, +and brought up in somewhat of another Fashion than what now +reigns. And so I now take heart to send it to you whose +Poems and Writings prove that you belong to another, and, as I +think, far better School, whether you care for Crabbe or +not. I dare say you will feel bound to acknowledge the +Book; but pray do so, if at all, by a simple acknowledgment of +its receipt; I mean, so far as I am concerned in it: any word +about Crabbe I shall be very glad to have if you care to write +it; but I always maintain it best to say nothing, unless to find +fault, with what is sent to one in this Book Line. And so +to be done by.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Lord Houghton</i>. <a +name="citation285a"></a><a href="#footnote285a" +class="citation">[285a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>May</i> 10<i>th</i> +1880. <a name="citation285b"></a><a href="#footnote285b" +class="citation">[285b]</a></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Lord Houghton</span>,</p> +<p>I think I have sent you a yearly letter of some sort or other +for several years, so it has come upon <!-- page 286--><a +name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 286</span>me once +again. I have nothing to ask of you except how you +are. I should just like to know that, including +‘yours’ in you. Just a very few words will +suffice, and I daresay you have no time for more. I have so +much time that it is evident I have nothing to tell, except that +I have just entered upon a military career in so far as having +become much interested in the battle of Waterloo, which I just +remember a year after it was fought, when a solemn anniversary +took place in a neighbouring parish where I was born, and the +village carpenter came to my father to borrow a pair of +Wellington boots for the lower limbs of a stuffed effigy of +Buonaparte, which was hung on a gibbet, and guns and pistols were +discharged at him, while we and the parson of the parish sat in a +tent where we had beef and plum pudding and loyal toasts. +To this hour I remember the smell of the new-cut hay in the +meadow as we went in our best summer clothes to the +ceremony. But now I am trying to understand whether the +Guards or the 52nd Regiment deserved most credit for +<i>écraséing</i> the Imperial Guard. <a +name="citation286"></a><a href="#footnote286" +class="citation">[286]</a> Here is a fine subject to +address you on in the year 1880! Let it go for nothing; but +just tell me how you are, and believe me, with some feeling of +old, if not very close intimacy,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours sincerely,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edward FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 287--><a +name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span><i>To R. C. +Trench</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>May</i> 18/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lord</span>,</p> +<p>I should have sent a line before now to thank you for your +Calderon, had I not waited for some tidings of Donne from +Mowbray, to whom I wrote some days ago. Not hearing from +him, I suppose that he is out holyday-making somewhere; and +therefore I will delay no longer.</p> +<p>You gave me your Calderon when it first came out, now some +five and twenty years ago! I am always glad to know that +it, or any of your writings, Prose or Verse, still +flourish—which I think not many others of the kind will do +after the Generation they are born in. I remember that you +regretted having tried the asonante, and you now decide that +Prose is best for English Translation. It may be so; in a +great degree it must be so; but I think the experiment might yet +be tried; namely, the short trochaic line, regardless of an +assonant that will not speak in our thin vowels, but looped up at +intervals with a strong monosyllabic rhyme, without which the +English trochaic, assonant or not, is apt to fray out, or run +away too watery-like without some such interruption; I mean when +running to any considerable length, as I should think would be +the case in Longfellow’s Hiawatha; which I have not however +seen since it appeared. Were I a dozen years younger I +might try this with Calderon which I think I have found to <!-- +page 288--><a name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +288</span>succeed in some much shorter flights: but it is too +late now, and you may think it well that it is so, with one who +takes such great liberties with great Poets, himself pretending +to be little more than a Versifier. I know not how it is +with you who are really a Poet; and perhaps you may think I am as +wrong about my trochee as about my iambic.</p> +<p>As for the modern Poetry, I have cared for none of the last +thirty years, not even Tennyson, except in parts: pure, lofty and +noble as he always is. Much less can I endure the +<i>Gurgoyle</i> school (I call it) begun, I suppose, by V. Hugo. +. . . I do think you will find something better than that +in the discarded Crabbe; whose writings Wordsworth (not given to +compliment any man on any occasion) wrote to Crabbe’s Son +and Editor would continue as long at least as any Poetry written +since, on account of its mingled ‘Truth and +Poetry.’ And this includes Wordsworth’s +own. So I must think my old Crabbe will come up again, +though never to be popular.</p> +<p>This reminds me that just after I had written to you, +Crabbe’s Grandson, one of the best, most amiable, and most +agreeable, of my friends, paid me a two days’ Visit, and +told me that a Nephew of yours was learning to farm with a +Steward of Lord Walsingham at Merton in Norfolk, George +Crabbe’s own parish; I mean the living George, who spoke of +your Nephew as a very gentlemanly young man indeed. I think +<i>he</i> will not gainsay what I write to you of his +‘Parson.’</p> +<p><!-- page 289--><a name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +289</span>Your kind Letter has encouraged me to write all +this. I felt some hesitation in addressing you again after +an interval of some fifteen years, I think; and now I think I +shall venture on writing to you once again before another year be +gone, if we both live to see 1881 in, and out.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Charles Keene</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Keene</span>,</p> +<p>Your Letter reached me yesterday when I was just finishing my +Sévigné; I mean, reading it over. I have +plenty of Notes for an Introductory Argument and List of Dramatis +Personæ, and a clue to the course of her Letters, so as to +set a new reader off on the right tack, with some previous +acquaintance with the People and Places she lives among. +But I shrink from trying to put such Notes into shape; all +writing always distasteful to me, and now very difficult, at +seventy odd. Some such Introduction would be very useful: +people being in general puzzled with Persons, Dates, etc., if not +revolted by the eternal, though quite sincere, fuss about her +Daughter, which the Eye gradually learns to skim over, and get to +the fun. I felt a pang when arriving at—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Ci git<br /> +Marie de Rabutin-Chantal<br /> +Marquise de Sévigné<br /> +Décédée le 18 Avril 1696</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 290--><a name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +290</span>still to be found, I believe, on a Tablet in the Church +of Grignan in Provence. I have been half minded to run over +to Brittany just to see Les Rochers; but a French +‘Murray’ informed me that the present owner will not +let it be seen by Strangers attracted by all those +‘paperasses,’ as he calls her Letters. Probably +I should not have gone in any case when it came to proof. . . +.</p> +<p>I did not forget Waterloo Day. Just as I and my Reader +Boy were going into the Pantry for some <i>grub</i>, I thought of +young Ensign Leeke, not 18, who carried the Colours of that +famous 52nd which gave the ‘coup de grace’ to the +Imperial Guard about 8 p.m. and then marched to Rossomme, seeing +the Battle was won: and the Colour-serjeant found some bread in +some French Soldier’s knapsack, and brought a bit to his +Ensign, ‘You must want a bit, Sir, and I am sure you have +deserved it.’ That was a Compliment worth having!</p> +<p>I have, like you, always have, and from a Child had, a +mysterious feeling about that ‘Sizewell Gap.’ +There were reports of kegs of Hollands found under the Altar +Cloth of Theberton Church near by: and we Children looked with +awe on the ‘Revenue Cutters’ which passed +Aldbro’, especially remembering one that went down with all +hands, ‘The Ranger.’</p> +<p>They have half spoilt Aldbro’; but now that Dunwich is +crossed out from my visiting Book by the loss of that fine +fellow, <a name="citation290"></a><a href="#footnote290" +class="citation">[290]</a> whom this time of year <!-- page +291--><a name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +291</span>especially reminds me of, I must return to +Aldbro’ now and then. Why can’t you go there +with me? I say no more of your coming here, for you ought +to be assured that you would be welcome at any time; but I never +do ask any busy, or otherwise engaged man to come. . . .</p> +<p>Here is a good Warwickshire word—‘I <i>sheered</i> +my Eyes round the room.’ So good, that it explains +itself.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">White +Lion</span>, <span class="smcap">Aldeburgh</span>.<br /> +<i>July</i> 7/80.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Keene</span>,</p> +<p>I shall worry you with Letters: here is one, however, which +will call for no answer. It is written indeed in +acknowledgement of your packet of Drawings, received by me +yesterday at Woodbridge.</p> +<p>My rule concerning Books is, that Giver and Taker (each in his +turn) should just say nothing. As I am not an Artist +(though a very great Author) I will say that Four of your +Drawings seemed capital to me: I cannot remember the Roundabouts +which they initialed: except two: 1. The lazy idle Boy, which you +note as not being used; I suppose, from not being considered +sufficiently appropriate to the Essay (which I forget), but which +I thought altogether good; and the old Man, with a look of +Edwards! 2. Little Boy in Black, very pretty: 3. (I forget +the Essay) People looking at Pictures: one of them, the +principal, surely a recollection of W. M. T. <!-- page 292--><a +name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +292</span>himself. Then 4. There was a bawling Boy: subject +forgotten. I looked at them many times through the +forenoon: and came away here at 2 p.m.</p> +<p>I do not suppose, or wish, that you should make over to me all +these Drawings, which I suppose are the originals from which the +Wood was cut. I say I do not ‘wish,’ because I +am in my 72nd year: and I now give away rather than accept. +But I wished for one at least of your hand; for its own sake, and +as a remembrance, for what short time is left me, of one whom I +can sincerely say I regard greatly for himself, as also for those +Dunwich days in which I first became known to him. +‘Violà qui est dit.’</p> +<p>And I wish you were here, not for your own sake, for it is +dull enough. No Sun, no Ship, a perpetual drizzle; and to +me the melancholy of another Aldbro’ of years gone +by. Out of that window there ‘le petit’ +Churchyard sketched Thorpe headland under an angry Sunset of Oct. +55 which heralded a memorable Gale that washed up a poor Woman +with a Babe in her arms: and old Mitford had them buried with an +inscribed Stone in the old Churchyard, peopled with dead +‘Mariners’; and Inscription and Stone are now +gone. Yesterday I got out in a Boat, drizzly as it was: but +to-day there is too much Sea to put off. I am to be home by +the week’s end, if not before. The melancholy of +Slaughden last night, with the same Sloops sticking sidelong in +the mud as sixty years ago! And I the venerable +Remembrancer.</p> +<p><!-- page 293--><a name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +293</span><span class="smcap">My dear Keene</span>,</p> +<p>I ought to have acknowledged the receipt of your Paris map, +which is excellent; so that, eyes permitting, I can follow my +Sévigné about from her Rue St. Catherine over the +Seine to the Faubourg St. Germain quite distinctly. These +cold East winds, however, coming so suddenly after the heat, put +those Eyes of mine in a pickle, so as I am obliged to let them +lie fallow, looking only at the blessed Green of the Trees before +my Window, or on my Quarterdeck. <a name="citation293"></a><a +href="#footnote293" class="citation">[293]</a> My two +Nieces are with me, so that I leave all the house to them, except +my one Room downstairs, which serves for Parlour, Bedroom and +all. And it does very well for me; reminding me of my +former Cabin life in my little Ship +‘d’autrefois.’ . . .</p> +<p>Do not you forget (as you will) to tell Mr. Millais one day of +the pretty Subject I told you; little Keats standing sentry +before his sick Mother’s Door with a drawn sword; in his +Shirt it might be, with some Rembrandtish Light and Shade. +The Story is to be found at the beginning of Lord +Houghton’s Life.</p> +<p>Also, for any Painter you know of what they call the +‘Genre’ School:</p> +<p>Sévigné and the ‘de Villars’ looking +through the keyhole at Mignard painting Madame de Fontevrauld +(Rochechouart) while the Abbé Têtu talks to her +(Letter of Sept. 6, 1675). It might be done in two <!-- +page 294--><a name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +294</span>compartments, with the wall slipt between, so as to +show both Parties, as one has seen on the Stage.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Nov.</i> 3, 1880.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . With all your knowledge, and all the use you can make of +it, I wonder that you can think twice of such things as I can +offer you in return for what you send me: but I take you at your +word, and shall perhaps send you the last half of Œdipus, +if I can prepare him for the Printer; a rather hard business to +me now, when turned of seventy, and reminded by some intimations +about the Heart that I am not likely to exceed the time which +those of my Family have stopped going at. But this is no +great Regret to me.</p> +<p>I have sent you a better Book than any I can send you of my +own: or of any one else’s in the way of Verse, I think: the +Sonnets of Alfred Tennyson’s Brother Charles. Two +thirds of them I do not care for: but there is scarce one without +some fine thought or expression: some of them quite beautiful to +me: all pure, true, and original. I think you in America +may like these leaves from the Life of a quiet Lincolnshire +Parson.</p> +<p>. . . We have had the Leaves green unusually late this year, I +think: but so I have thought often before, I am told. The +last few nights have brought <!-- page 295--><a +name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 295</span>Frost, +however: and changed the countenance of all. A Blackbird +(have you him as the ‘ousel’?) whom I kept alive, I +think, through last hard winter by a saucer of Bread and Milk, +has come to look for it again.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Miss Anna Biddell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Nov.</i> 30, 1880.</p> +<p>One day I went into the Abbey at 3½ p.m. while a +beautiful anthem was beautifully sung, and then the prayers and +collects, not less beautiful, well intoned on one single note by +the Minister. And when I looked up and about me, I thought +that Abbey a wonderful structure for Monkeys to have +raised. The last night, Mesdames Kemble and Edwards had +each of them company, so I went into my old Opera House in the +Haymarket, where I remembered the very place where Pasta stood as +Medea on the Stage, and Rubini singing his return to his +Betrothed in the Puritani, and Taglioni floating everywhere +about: and the several Boxes in which sat the several Ranks and +Beauties of forty and fifty years ago: my Mother’s Box on +the third Tier, in which I often figured as a Specimen of +both. The Audience all changed much for the worse, I +thought: and Opera and Singers also; only one of them who could +sing at all, and she sang very well indeed; Trebelli, her +name. The opera by a Frenchman on the Wagner plan: +excellent instrumentation, but not one new or melodious idea +through the whole.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 296--><a +name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 296</span><i>To W. H. +Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>: <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Decr.</i> 15 [1880].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Master</span>,</p> +<p>I have not written to you this very long while, simply because +I did not wish to trouble you: Aldis Wright will tell you that I +have not neglected to enquire about you. I drew him out of +Jerusalem Chamber for five minutes three weeks ago: this I did to +ask primarily about Mr. Furness on behalf of Mrs. Kemble: but +also I asked about you, and was told you were still improving, +and prepared to abide the winter here. I saw nobody in +London except my two Widows, my dear old Donne, and some coeval +Suffolk Friends. I was half tempted to jump into a Bus and +just leave my name at Carlyle’s Door! But I did +not. I should of course have asked and heard how he was: +which I can find no one now to tell me. For his Niece has a +Child, if only one, to attend to, and I do not like to +trouble. I heard from vague Information in London that he +is almost confined to his house.</p> +<p>I have myself been somewhat bothered at times for the last +three months with pains and heaviness about the Heart: which I +knew from a Doctor was unsettled five years ago. I shall +not at all complain if it takes the usual course, only wishing to +avoid <i>Angina</i>, or some such form of the Disease. My +<!-- page 297--><a name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +297</span>Family get on gaily enough till seventy, and then +generally founder after turning the corner.</p> +<p>I hope you know Charles Tennyson’s Sonnets; three times +too many, and some rather puerile: but scarce one but with +something good in Thought or Expression: all original: and some +delightful: I think, to live with Alfred’s, and no one +else’s. Old Fred might have made one of Three +Brothers, I think, could he have compressed himself into +something of Sonnet Compass: but he couldn’t. He +says, Charles makes one regard and love little things more than +any other Poet.</p> +<p>My Nephew De Soyres seems to have made a good Edition of +Pascal’s Letters: I should have thought they had been quite +well enough edited before; and yet a more +‘exhaustive’ Edition is to follow the House that Jack +built, he tells us.</p> +<p>Groome had proposed a month ago that he would visit me about +this time: but I have heard no more of him: and am always afraid +to write, for fear of those poor Eyes of his.</p> +<p>I was very glad to meet Merivale on Lowestoft Pier for some +days. Mrs. M. writes to me of an enlarged Photo of him +whose Negative will be destroyed in a month unless subscribed for +by Friends, etc. ‘Will I ask Friends, +etc.’ No: I will not do that, though I will take a +copy if wanted to complete a number: though, if it be life size, +having no where to hang it up: my own Mother, by Sir T. Lawrence, +being put away in a cupboard for want of room.</p> +<p><!-- page 298--><a name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +298</span>Now, my dear Master, I want neither you nor the +Mistress to reply to this Letter: but please to believe me, both +of you, yours as ever sincerely</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +Fitz</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>February</i> 20, +1881.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have little to say about Carlyle, but that my heart +did follow him to Ecclefechan, from which place I have, or had, +several letters dated by him. I think it was fine that he +should anticipate all Westminster Abbey honours, and determine to +be laid where he was born, among his own kindred, and with all +the simple and dignified obsequies of (I suppose) his own old +Puritan Church. The Care of his Posthumous Memory will be +left in good hands, I believe, if in those of Mr. Froude. +His Niece, who had not answered a Note of Enquiry I wrote her +some two months ago, answered it a few days after his Death: she +had told him, she said, of my letter, and he said, ‘You +must answer that.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Kemble</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>March</i>, 1881].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>It was very, very good and kind of you to write to me about +Spedding. Yes: Aldis Wright had <!-- page 299--><a +name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 299</span>apprised me +of the matter just after it happened, he happening to be in +London at the time; and but two days after the accident heard +that Spedding was quite calm, and even cheerful; only anxious +that Wright himself should not be kept waiting for some +communication that S. had promised him! Whether to live, or +to die, he will be Socrates still.</p> +<p>Directly that I heard from Wright, I wrote to Mowbray Donne to +send me just a Post Card daily, if he or his Wife could, with but +one or two words on it, ‘Better,’ ‘Less +well,’ or whatever it might be. This morning I hear +that all is going on even better than could be expected, +according to Miss Spedding. But I suppose the Crisis, which +you tell me of, is not yet come; and I have always a terror of +that French Adage, ‘Monsieur se porte mal—Monsieur se +porte mieux—Monsieur est—!’ Ah, you know, +or you guess, the rest.</p> +<p>My dear old Spedding, though I have not seen him these twenty +years and more, and probably should never see again; but he +lives, his old Self, in my heart of hearts; and all I hear of him +does but embellish the recollection of him, if it could be +embellished; for he is but the same that he was from a Boy, all +that is best in Heart and Head, a man that would be incredible +had one not known him.</p> +<p>I certainly should have gone up to London, even with Eyes that +will scarce face the lamps of Woodbridge, not to see him, but to +hear the first intelligence I could about him. But I rely +on the Post-card for <!-- page 300--><a name="page300"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 300</span>but a Night’s delay. +Laurence, Mowbray tells me, had been to see him, and found him as +calm as had been reported by Wright. But the Doctors had +said that he should be kept as quiet as possible.</p> +<p>I think, from what Mowbray also says, that you may have seen +our other old friend Donne in somewhat worse plight than usual +because of his being much shocked at this accident. He +would feel it indeed!—as you do.</p> +<p>I had even thought of writing to tell you all this, but could +not but suppose that you were more likely to know of it than +myself; though sometimes one is greatly mistaken with these +‘of course you knows, etc.’ But you have known +it all: and have very kindly written of it to me, whom you might +also have supposed already informed of it: but you took the +trouble to write, not relying on ‘of course you know, +etc.’</p> +<p>I have thought lately that I ought to make some enquiry about +Arthur Malkin, who was always very kind to me. I had meant +to send him my Crabbe, who was a great favourite of his +Father’s, ‘an excellent Companion for Old Age’ +he told—Donne, I think. But I do not know if I ever +did send him the Book; and now, judging by what you tell me, it +is too late to do so, unless for Compliment.</p> +<p>The Sun, I see, has put my Fire out, for which I only thank +him, and will go to look for him himself in my Garden, only with +a Green Shade over my <!-- page 301--><a name="page301"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 301</span>Eyes. I must get to London to +see you before you move away to Leamington; when I can bear Sun +or Lamp without odious blue glasses, etc. I dare to think +those Eyes are better, though not Sun-proof.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>March</i> 13, +[1881].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I send you along with this Letter Part II. of Œdipus, +with some corrections or suggestions which I have been obliged to +make in Pencil, because of the Paper blotting under the lightest +Penwork. And, along with it, a preliminary Letter, which I +believe I told you of also, addressed to your Initial: for I did +not wish to compromise you even with yourself in such a +Business. I know you will like it probably more than it +deserves, and excuse its inroads on the Original, though you may, +and probably will, think I might better have left it alone, or +followed it more faithfully. As to those Students you tell +me of who are meditating, or by this time may have accomplisht, +their Representation, they could only look on me as a Blasphemer. +. . .</p> +<p>It seems almost wrong or unreasonable of me to be talking thus +of myself and my little Doings, when not only Carlyle has +departed from us, but one, not so illustrious in Genius, but +certainly not less wise, <!-- page 302--><a +name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 302</span>my dear old +Friend of sixty years, James Spedding: <a +name="citation302"></a><a href="#footnote302" +class="citation">[302]</a> whose name you will know as connected +with Lord Bacon. To re-edit his Works, which did not want +any such re-edition, and to vindicate his Character which could +not be cleared, did this Spedding sacrifice forty years which he +might well have given to accomplish much greater things; +Shakespeare, for one. But Spedding had no sort of Ambition, +and liked to be kept at one long work which he knew would not +glorify himself. He was the wisest man I have known: not +the less so for plenty of the Boy in him; a great sense of +Humour, a Socrates in Life and in Death, which he faced with all +Serenity so long as Consciousness lasted. I suppose +something of him will reach America, I mean, of his Death, run +over by a Cab and dying in St. George’s Hospital to which +he was taken, and from which he could not be removed home +alive. I believe that had Carlyle been alive, and but as +well as he was three months ago, he would have insisted on being +carried to the Hospital to see his Friend, whom he respected as +he did few others. I have just got the Carlyle +Reminiscences, which will take me some little time to read, +impatient as I may be to read them. What I have read is of +a stuff we can scarce find in any other Autobiographer: whether +his Editor Froude has done quite well in publishing them as they +are, and so soon, is another matter. Carlyle’s Niece +thinks, not quite. She sent me a Pipe her Uncle had used, +for Memorial. I <!-- page 303--><a name="page303"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 303</span>had asked her for the Bowl, and an +Inch of stem, of one of the Clay Pipes such as I had smoked with +him under that little old Pear Tree in his Chelsea garden many an +Evening. But she sent me a small Meerschaum which Lady +Ashburton had given him, and which he used when from home.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 13/81.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>It was very very good of you to think of writing to me at all +on this occasion: <a name="citation303"></a><a +href="#footnote303" class="citation">[303]</a> much more, writing +to me so fully, almost more fully than I dared at first to read: +though all so delicately and as you always write. It is +over! I shall not write about it. He was all you +say.</p> +<p>So I turn to myself! And that is only to say that I am +much as usual: here all alone for the last six months, except a +two days visit to London in November to see Mrs. Kemble, who is +now removed from Westminster to Marshall Thompson’s Hotel +Cavendish Square: and Mrs. Edwards who is naturally better and +happier than a year ago, but who says she never should be happy +unless always at work. And that work is taking off +impressions of yet another—and I believe last—batch +of her late Husband’s Etchings. I saw and heard +nothing else than these two Ladies: and some old Nurseys at St. +John’s Wood: and dear <!-- page 304--><a +name="page304"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 304</span>Donne, who +was infirmer than when I had seen him before, and, I hear, is +infirmer still than when I saw him last.</p> +<p>By the by, I began to think my own Eyes, which were blazed +away by Paraffin some dozen years ago, were going out of me just +before Christmas. So for the two dreary months which +followed I could scarce read or write. And as yet I am +obliged to use them tenderly: only too glad to find that they are +better; and not quite going (as I hope) yet. I think they +will light me out of this world with care. On March 31 I +shall enter on my seventy-third year: and none of my Family +reaches over seventy-five.</p> +<p>When I was in London I was all but tempted to jump into a Cab +and just knock at Carlyle’s door, and ask after him, and +give my card, and—run away. . . .</p> +<p>The cold wind will not leave us, and my Crocuses do not like +it. Still I manage to sit on one of those Benches you may +remember under the lee side of the hedge, and still my +seventy-third year approaches.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Miss Anna Biddell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 1881.</p> +<p>I can only say of Carlyle what you say; except that I do not +find the style ‘tiresome’ any more than I did his +Talk: which it is, only put on Paper, quite fresh, from an +Individual Man of Genius, unlike <!-- page 305--><a +name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>almost all +Autobiographic Memoirs. I doubt not that he wrote it by way +of some Employment, as well as (in his Wife’s case) some +relief to his Feelings. . . .</p> +<p>I did not know that I should feel Spedding’s Loss as I +do, after an interval of more than twenty years [since] meeting +him. But I knew that I could always get the Word I wanted +of him by Letter, and also that from time to time I should meet +with some of his wise and delightful Papers in some Quarter or +other. He talked of Shakespeare, I am told, when his Mind +wandered. I wake almost every morning feeling as if I had +lost something, as one does in a Dream: and truly enough, I have +lost <i>him</i>. ‘Matthew is in his Grave, +etc.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Kemble</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[20 <i>March</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>I have let the Full Moon pass because I thought you had +written to me so lately, and so kindly, about our lost Spedding, +that I would not call on you so soon again. Of him I will +say nothing except that his Death has made me recall very many +passages in his Life in which I was partly concerned. In +particular, staying at his Cumberland Home along with Tennyson in +the May of 1835. ‘Voilà bien longtemps de +ça!’ His Father <!-- page 306--><a +name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 306</span>and Mother +were both alive: he, a wise man, who mounted his Cob after +Breakfast and was at his Farm till Dinner at two; then away again +till Tea: after which he sat reading by a shaded lamp: saying +very little, but always courteous and quite content with any +company his Son might bring to the house, so long as they let him +go his way: which indeed he would have gone whether they let him +or no. But he had seen enough of Poets not to like them or +their Trade: Shelley, for a time living among the Lakes: +Coleridge at Southey’s (whom perhaps he had a respect +for—Southey I mean); and Wordsworth whom I do not think he +valued. He was rather jealous of ‘Jem,’ who +might have done available service in the world, he thought, +giving himself up to such Dreamers; and sitting up with Tennyson +conning over the Morte d’Arthur, Lord of Burleigh, and +other things which helped to make up the two volumes of +1842. So I always associate that Arthur Idyll with +Basanthwaite Lake, under Skiddaw. Mrs. Spedding was a +sensible, motherly Lady, with whom I used to play Chess of a +Night. And there was an old Friend of hers, Miss Bristowe, +who always reminded me of Miss La Creevy if you know of such a +Person in Nickleby.</p> +<p>At the end of May we went to lodge for a week at Windermere, +where Wordsworth’s new volume of Yarrow Revisited reached +us. W. was then at his home: but Tennyson would not go <!-- +page 307--><a name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +307</span>to visit him: and of course I did not: nor even saw +him.</p> +<p>You have, I suppose, the Carlyle Reminiscences: of which I +will say nothing except that much as we outsiders gain by them, I +think that, on the whole, they had better have been kept +unpublished, for some while at least.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>Thank you for your kind Letter; which I forwarded, with its +enclosure, to Thompson, as you desired.</p> +<p>If Spedding’s Letters, or parts of them, would not suit +the Public, they would surely be a very welcome treasure to his +Friends. Two or three pages of Biography would be enough to +introduce them to those who knew him less long and less +intimately than ourselves: and all who read would be the better, +and the happier, for reading them.</p> +<p>I am rather surprised to find how much I dwell upon the +thought of him, considering that I had not refreshed my Memory +with the sight or sound of him for more than twenty years. +But all the past (before that) comes upon me: I cannot help +thinking of him while I wake; and when I do wake from Sleep, I +have a feeling of something lost, as in a Dream, and it is J. S. +<!-- page 308--><a name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +308</span>I suppose that Carlyle amused himself, after just +losing his Wife, with the Records he has left: what he says of +her seems a sort of penitential glorification: what of others, +just enough in general: but in neither case to be made public, +and so immediately after his Decease. . . . I keep +wondering what J. S. would have said on the matter: but I cannot +ask him now, as I might have done a month ago. . . .</p> +<p>Dear old Jem! His Loss makes one’s Life more +dreary, and ‘en revanche’ the end of it less +regretful.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Alfred Tennyson</i>. <a +name="citation308a"></a><a href="#footnote308a" +class="citation">[308a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>March</i> 22, [1881].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Tennyson</span>,</p> +<p>It is very, very [good] of you to write to me, even to +remember me. I have told you before why I did not write to +any other of your Party, as I might occasionally wish to do for +the sake of asking about you all: the task of answering my Letter +was always left to you: and I did not choose to put you to that +trouble. Laurence had written me some account of his Visit +to St. George’s: all Patience: only somewhat wishful to be +at home: somewhat weary with lying without Book, or even Watch, +for company. What a Man! as in Life so in Death, which, as +Montaigne says, proves what is at the bottom of the Vessel. <a +name="citation308b"></a><a href="#footnote308b" +class="citation">[308b]</a> <!-- page 309--><a +name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 309</span>I had not +seen him for more than twenty years, and should never have seen +him again, unless in the Street, where Cabs were crossing! +He did not want to see me; he wanted nothing, I think: but I was +always thinking of him, and should have done till my own +Life’s end, I know. I only wrote to him about twice a +year: he only cared to answer when one put some definite Question +to him: and I had usually as little to ask as to tell. I +was thinking that, but for that Cab, I might even now be asking +him what I was to think of his Cousin Froude’s Carlyle +Reminiscences. I see but one Quotation in the Book, which +is ‘of the Days that are no more,’ which clung to him +when his Sorrow came, as it will to many and many who will come +after him.</p> +<p>I certainly hope that some pious and judicious hand will +gather, and choose from our dear Spedding’s Letters: no +fear of indelicate personality with him, you know: and many +things which all the world would be the wiser and better +for. Archdeacon Allen sent me the other day a Letter about +Darwin’s Philosophy, so wise, so true, so far as I could +judge, and, though written off, all fit to go as it was into +Print, and do all the World good. <a name="citation309"></a><a +href="#footnote309" class="citation">[309]</a> . . .</p> +<p>It was fine too of Carlyle ordering to be laid among his own +homely Kindred in the Village <!-- page 310--><a +name="page310"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 310</span>of his +Birth: without Question of Westminster Abbey. So think I, +at least. And dear J. S. at Mirehouse where your Husband +and I stayed, very near upon fifty years ago, in 1835 it was, in +the month of May, when the Daffodil was out in a field before the +house, as I see them, though not in such force, owing to cold +winds, before my window now. Does A. T. remember them?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Kemble</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>April</i>, 1881.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Somewhat before my usual time, you see; but Easter comes, and +I shall be glad to hear if you keep it in London, or +elsewhere. Elsewhere there has been no inducement to go +until To-day: when the Wind though yet East has turned to the +Southern side of it; one can walk without any wrapper; and I dare +to fancy we have turned the corner of Winter at last. +People talk of changed Seasons: only yesterday I was reading in +my dear old Sévigné, how she was with the Duke and +Duchess of Chaulnes at their Chateau of Chaulnes in Picardy all +but two hundred years ago: that is in 1689: and the green has not +as yet ventured to shew its ‘nez’ nor a Nightingale +to sing. You see that I have returned to her as for some +Spring Music, at any rate. As for <!-- page 311--><a +name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 311</span>the Birds, +I have nothing but a Robin who seems rather pleased when I sit +down on a Bench under an old Ivied Pollard, where I suppose he +has a Nest, poor little Fellow. But we have terrible +Superstitions about him here; no less than that he always kills +his Parents if he can: my young Reader is quite determined on +this head: and there lately has been a Paper in some Magazine to +the same effect.</p> +<p>My dear old Spedding sent me back to old Wordsworth too, who +sings (his best songs I think) about the Mountains and Lakes they +were both associated with: and with a quiet feeling he sings that +somehow comes home to me more now than ever it did before.</p> +<p>As to Carlyle, I thought on my first reading that he must have +been <i>égaré</i> at the time of writing: a +condition which I well remember saying to Spedding long ago that +one of his temperament might likely fall into. And now I +see that Mrs. Oliphant hints at something of the sort. Hers +I think an admirable Paper: <a name="citation311"></a><a +href="#footnote311" class="citation">[311]</a> better than has +yet been written, or (I believe) is likely to be written by any +one else. . . . I must think Carlyle’s judgments +mostly, or mainly, true; but that he must have ‘lost his +head’ if not when he recorded them, yet when he left them +in any one’s hands to decide on their publication. +Especially when not about Public Men, but about their +Families. <!-- page 312--><a name="page312"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 312</span>It is slaying the Innocent with the +Guilty. But of all this you have doubtless heard in London +more than enough. ‘Pauvre et triste +Humanité!’ One’s heart opens again to +him at the last: sitting alone in the middle of her Room. +‘I want to die.’ ‘I want—a +Mother.’ ‘Ah mamma Letizia!’ Napoleon is +said to have murmured as he lay. By way of pendant to this +recurs to me the Story that when Ducis was wretched his Mother +would lay his head on her Bosom—‘Ah, mon homme! mon +pauvre homme!’ . . .</p> +<p>And now I have written more than enough for yourself and me: +whose Eyes may be the worse for it to-morrow. I still go +about in Blue Glasses, and flinch from Lamp and Candle. +Pray let me know about your own Eyes, and your own Self; and +believe me always sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.<br /> +<i>May</i> 8, [1881].</p> +<p>If still at Leamington, you look upon a sight which I used to +like well; that is, the blue Avon (as in this weather it will be) +roaming through buttercup meadows all the way to Warwick; unless +those meadows are all built over since I was there some forty +years ago. . . .</p> +<p>I am got back to my Sévigné! who somehow returns +to me in Spring; fresh as the Flowers. These latter have +done but badly this Spring: <!-- page 313--><a +name="page313"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 313</span>cut off or +withered by the Cold: and now parched up by this blazing Sun and +dry Wind.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>From another Letter in the same +year</i>.</p> +<p>It has been what we call down here ‘smurring’ +rather than raining, all day long, and I think that Flower and +Herb already show their gratitude. My Blackbird (I think it +is the same I have tried to keep alive during the Winter) seems +also to have ‘wetted his Whistle,’ and what they call +the ‘Cuckoo’s mate’ with a rather harsh scissor +note announces that his Partner may be on the wing to these +Latitudes. You will hear of him at Mr W. +Shakespeare’s, it may be. <a name="citation313"></a><a +href="#footnote313" class="citation">[313]</a> There must +be Violets, white and blue, somewhere about where he lies, I +think. They are generally found in a Churchyard, where also +(the Hunters used to say) a Hare: for the same reason of +comparative security I suppose.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Miss S. F. Spedding</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Little +Grange</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>July /81</i>.</p> +<p>. . . As I am so very little known to yourself, or your +Mother, I did not choose to trouble you with any of my own +feelings about your Uncle’s Death. But I am not sorry +to take this opportunity of saying, and, I know, truly, there was +no one <!-- page 314--><a name="page314"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 314</span>I loved and honoured more; that, +though I had not seen him for more than twenty years, I was +always thinking of him all the while: always feeling that I could +apply to him for a wise word I needed for myself; always knowing +that I might light upon some wiser word than any one else’s +in some Review, etc., and <i>now</i> always thinking I have lost +all that. I say that I have not known, no, nor heard of, +any mortal so prepared to step unchanged into the better world we +are promised—Intellect, and Heart, and such an outer Man to +them as I remember.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>July</i> 31, [1881].</p> +<p>. . . I rejoice to hear of a Collection, or Reprint, of his +stray works. . . . I used to say he wrote ‘Virgilian +Prose.’ One only of his I did not care for; but that, +I doubt not, was because of the subject, not of the treatment: +his own printed Report of a Speech he made in what was called the +‘Quinquaginta Club’ Debating Society (not the Union) +at Cambridge about the year 1831. This Speech his Father +got him to recall and recompose in Print; wishing always that his +Son should turn his faculties to such public Topics rather than +to the Poets, of whom he had seen enough in Cumberland not to +have much regard for: Shelley, for one, at one time stalking +about the mountains, with Pistols, and other such Vagaries. +<!-- page 315--><a name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +315</span>I do not think he was much an Admirer of Wordsworth (I +don’t know about Southey), and I well remember that when I +was at M<i>e</i>rehouse (as Miss Bristowe would have us call it) +with A. Tennyson in 1835, Mr. Spedding grudged his Son’s +giving up much time and thought to consultations about Morte +d’Arthur’s, Lords of Burleigh, etc., which were then +in MS. He more than once questioned me, who was sometimes +present at the meetings: ‘Well, Mr. F., and what is +it? Mr. Tennyson reads, and Jem criticizes:—is that +it?’ etc. This, while I might be playing Chess with +dear Mrs. Spedding, in May, while the Daffodils were dancing +outside the Hall door.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>August</i> 5/81.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I am sorry that you felt bound to write me so fully about the +Play when, as you tell me, you had so much other work on your +hands. Any how, do not trouble yourself to write +more. If you think my Version does as well, or better, +without any introduction, why, tear that out; all, except (if you +like the Verse well enough to adopt it) the first sentence of +Dedication to yourself: adding your full name and Collegiate +Honours whenever you care so to do.</p> +<p><!-- page 316--><a name="page316"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +316</span>Your account of your Harvard original in the Atlantic +Monthly was quite well fitted for its purpose: a general account +of it for the general reader, without going into particulars +which only the Scholar would appreciate.</p> +<p>I believe I told you that thirty years ago at least I advised +our Trinity’s Master, then only Greek Professor, to do the +like with one of the Greek Tragedies, in what they call their +Senate-house, well fitted for such a purpose. But our +Cambridge is too well fed, and slow to stir; and I not important +enough to set it a-going.</p> +<p>By the way, I have been there for two days; not having seen +the place for those same thirty years, except in passing through +some ten years ago to Naseby Field, for the purpose of doing +Carlyle’s will in setting up a memorial Stone with his +Inscription upon it. But the present owners of the Place +would not consent: and so that simple thing came to nothing.</p> +<p>Well, I went again, as I say, to Cambridge a month ago; not in +my way to Naseby, but to my friend George Crabbe’s +(Grandson of my Poet) in Norfolk. I went because it was +Vacation time, and no one I knew up except Cowell and Aldis +Wright. Cowell, married, lives in pleasant lodging with +trees before and behind, on the skirts of the town; Wright, in +‘Neville’s Court,’ one side of which is the +Library, all of Wren’s design, and (I think) very +good. I felt at home in the rooms there, walled with Books, +large, <!-- page 317--><a name="page317"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 317</span>and cool: and I was lionized over +some things new to me, and some that I was glad to see +again. Now I am back again, without any design to move; not +even to my old haunts on our neighbouring Sea-coast. The +inland Verdure suits my Eyes better than glowing sand and pebble: +and I suppose that every year I grow less and less desirous of +moving.</p> +<p>I will scarce touch upon the Carlyle Chapter: except to say +that I am sorry Froude printed the Reminiscences; at any rate, +printed them before the Life which he has begun so excellently in +the ‘Nineteenth Century’ for July. I think one +can surely see there that Carlyle might become somewhat crazed, +whether by intense meditation or Dyspepsy or both: especially as +one sees that his dear good Mother was so afflicted. But +how beautiful is the Story of that home, and the Company of Lads +travelling on foot to Edinburgh; and the monies which he sends +home for the paternal farm: and the butter and cheese which the +Farm returns to him. Ah! it is from such training that +strength comes, not from luxurious fare, easy chairs, cigars, +Pall Mall Clubs, etc. It has all made me think of a very +little Dialogue <a name="citation317"></a><a href="#footnote317" +class="citation">[317]</a> I once wrote on the matter, thirty +years ago and more, which I really think of putting into shape +again: and, if I do, will send it to you, by way of picture of +what our Cambridge was in what I think were better days than +now. I see the little tract is overdone and in some +respects in bad taste as it is. Now, do <!-- page 318--><a +name="page318"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 318</span>not ask for +this, nor mention it as if it were of any importance whatsoever: +it is not, but if pruned, etc., just a pretty thing, which your +Cambridge shall see if I can return to it.</p> +<p>By the by, I had meant to send you an emendation of a passage +in my Tyrannus which you found fault with. I mean where +Œdipus, after putting out his eyes, talks of seeing those +in Hades he does not wish to see. I knew it was not Greek: +but I thought that a note would be necessary to explain what the +Greek was: and I confess I do not care enough for their Mythology +for that. But, if you please, the passage (as I remember +it) might run:</p> + +<blockquote><p> Eyes, +etc.,<br /> +Which, having seen such things, henceforth, he said,<br /> +Should never by the light of day behold<br /> +Those whom he loved, nor in the after-dark<br /> +Of Hades, those he loathed, to look upon.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>All this has run me into a third <i>screed</i>, you see: a +word we used at School, only calling it +‘<i>screet</i>’—‘I say, do lend me a +screet of paper,’ meaning, a quarter of a foolscap +sheet.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Jan.</i> 18/82.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>At last I took heart, and Eyes, to return to the Œdipus +of this time last year; and have left none of your objections +unattended to, if not all complied with. Not but that you +may be quite as right <!-- page 319--><a name="page319"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 319</span>in objecting as I in leaving things +as they were: but as I believe I said (right or wrong) a little +obscurity seems to me not amiss in certain places, provided +enough is left clear, I mean in matter of Grammar, etc. But +I see that you have good reason to object in other cases: and, on +looking at the Play again, I also discover more, too many perhaps +to have heart or Eyes to devote to their rectification. The +Paper on which the second Part is printed will not endure Ink, +which also daunts me: nevertheless, I send you a Copy pencilled, +rather than references and alterations written by way of Letter: +I hope the least trouble to you of either Alternative. . . .</p> +<p>I scarcely know what I have written, but I know it must be bad +MS.; all which I ought in good manners to rectify, or +re-write. I think you in America think more of Calligraphy +than we here do: a really polite accomplishment, I always +maintain: and yet ‘deteriora sequor.’ But you +know that my eyes are not very active: and now my hand is less +than usually so, possessed as I am with a Devil of a Chill (in +spite, or in consequence, of warm wet weather) attended with +something of Bronchitis, I think. . . .</p> +<p>I forget if I told you in my last of my surprising +communication with the Spanish Ambassador who sent me the +Calderon medal, I doubt not at Mr. Lowell’s instance. +But I think I must have told you. Cowell came over to me +here on Monday: he, to whom a Medal is far more due than to me; +<!-- page 320--><a name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +320</span>always reading, and teaching, Calderon at Cambridge now +(as he did to me thirty years ago), in spite of all his Sanskrit +Duties. I wish I could send him to you across the Atlantic, +as easily as Arbuthnot once bid Pope ‘toss Johnny +Gay’ to him over the Thames. Cowell is greatly +delighted with Ford’s ‘<i>Gatherings in +Spain</i>,’ a Supplement to his Spanish Handbook, and in +which he finds, as I did, a supplement to Don Quixote also. +If you have not read, and cannot find, the Book, I will toss it +over the Atlantic to you, a clean new Copy, if that be yet +procurable, or my own second-hand one in default of a new. . . +.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Kemble</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Jan.</i> 1882.]</p> +<p>I see my poor little Aconites—‘New Year’s +Gifts’—still surviving in the Garden-plot before my +window: ‘still surviving,’ I say, because of their +having been out for near a month agone. I believe that +Messrs. Daffodil, Crocus and Snowdrop are putting in appearance +above ground, but (old Coward) I have not put my own old Nose out +of doors to look for them. I read (Eyes permitting) the +Correspondence between Goethe and Schiller (translated) from 1798 +to 1806, extremely interesting to me, though I do not understand, +and generally skip, the more purely Æsthetic Parts: which +is the Part of Hamlet, I suppose. But in other respects, +two such men so <!-- page 321--><a name="page321"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 321</span>freely discussing together their +own, and each other’s, works interest me greatly. At +night, we have the Fortunes of Nigel; a little of it, and not +every night: for the reason that I do not wish to eat my Cake too +soon. The last night but one I sent my Reader to see +Macbeth played by a little Shakespearian company at a Lecture +Hall here. He brought me one new Reading; suggested, I +doubt not by himself, from a remembrance of Macbeth’s +tyrannical ways: ‘Hang out our <i>Gallows</i> on the +outward walls.’ Nevertheless, the Boy took great +Interest in the Play, and I like to encourage him in Shakespeare +rather than in the Negro Melodists.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Jan.</i> 25/82.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I forgot in my last letter to beg you not to write for the +mere purpose of acknowledging the revised Œdipus who was to +travel along with it. You know that I am glad to hear from +you at any time when you are at leisure, not otherwise; and I +shall take for granted that you think my alterations are +improvements, so far as they go. And that is enough.</p> +<p>I herewith enclose you a sort of Choral Epilogue for the +second Part, which you can stick in or not as you will. I +cannot say much for it: but it came together in my head after +last writing to you, while I was pacing up and down a +Landing-place in my <!-- page 322--><a name="page322"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 322</span>house, to which I have been confined +for the last ten days by a Bronchial Cold. But for which I +should have been last week in London for the purpose of seeing a +very dear old, coævally old, Friend, <a +name="citation322"></a><a href="#footnote322" +class="citation">[322]</a> who has been gradually declining in +Body and Mind for the last three years.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours always sincerely<br /> +<span class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. A. Wright</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Friday</i> [24 <i>February</i> +1882].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Wright</span>,</p> +<p>I went to London this day week: saw my poor Donne (rather +better than I had expected to find him—but all declining) +three times: and came home—glad to come home!—on +Monday. Mrs. Kemble, Edwards (Keene at the latter +Lady’s) and my old Nursey friends, all I saw beside, in the +human way, save Streetfarers, Cabmen, etc. The Shops seemed +all stale to me: the only Exhibition I went to (Old Masters) +ditto. So I suppose that I have lost my Appetite for all +but dull Woodbridge Life. I have not lost my Cold—nor +all its bronchial symptoms; but may do so—as I get a little +older.</p> +<p><!-- page 323--><a name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +323</span>Tennyson was in London, I heard: but in some grand +Locality of Eaton Square; so I did not venture down to him. +But a day scarcely passes without my thinking of him, in one way +or other.</p> +<p>Browning told Mrs. Kemble he knew there was ‘a grotesque +side’ to his Society, etc., but he could not refuse the +kind solicitations of his Friends, Furnivall and Co. Mrs. +K. had been asked to join: but declined, because of her somewhat +admiring him; nay, much admiring what he might have done.</p> +<p>I enclose a note from Keene which appeals to you: I suppose +that his ‘fastous’ means ‘festuous,’ or +what is now called in Music ‘Pompous.’ +Charles’ ‘plump bass’ is good. <a +name="citation323"></a><a href="#footnote323" +class="citation">[323]</a></p> +<p>You had a bad cold when last you wrote: so you can tell me, if +you please, that you have shaken it off, as your Seniors cannot +so easily do. Let me know, of course, how the Master is, +and give him my Love. Does he know of Musurus Pasha’s +Translation of Dante’s Inferno into Modern Greek? I +was so much interested in it from the Academy that I bought; and, +so far as I have seen through uncut leaves, do not repent of +having done so.</p> +<p>The Academy also announced that an MS. <!-- page 324--><a +name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>account of +Carlyle’s Visit to Ireland in 1849 was in Froude’s +hands for the Press. As T. C. stayed some, if not the +greater part of his time there at the country house of my +Uncle’s Widow, I can only hope that he did not jot down +much to offend her surviving Children. Perhaps not: for +they were, and are, all of them (Mother dead) quite unpretending +people, and T. C. himself not then so savage as after his +Wife’s death. From Froude no mercy of reticence can +be expected.</p> +<p>You left here Rabisha <a name="citation324a"></a><a +href="#footnote324a" class="citation">[324a]</a> and +Groome’s Book of Tracts <a name="citation324b"></a><a +href="#footnote324b" class="citation">[324b]</a>: unless you will +be coming this way before long, I will send them to you.</p> +<p>You did not say whether you would undertake to look over +Borrow’s Books and MSS., and I write his Step-daughter to +that effect. But I hope you will find it not inconvenient +or unpleasant so to do: and am yours always</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>.</p> +<p>My Boy went to Macbeth at our Lecture Hall. What do you +say to his reading ‘Hang out our Gallows on the outward +Walls’?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To H. Schütz +Wilson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1 <i>March</i>, 1882.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I must thank you sincerely for your thoughts about +Salámán, in which I recognize a good will <!-- page +325--><a name="page325"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +325</span>toward the Translator, as well as liking for his +work.</p> +<p>Of course your praise could not but help that on: but I scarce +think that it is of a kind to profit so far by any review as to +make it worth the expense of Time and Talent you might bestow +upon it. In Omar’s case it was different: he sang, in +an acceptable way it seems, of what all men feel in their hearts, +but had not had exprest in verse before: Jámí tells +of what everybody knows, under cover of a not very skilful +Allegory. I have undoubtedly improved the whole by boiling +it down to about a Quarter of its original size; and there are +many pretty things in it, though the blank Verse is too Miltonic +for Oriental style.</p> +<p>All this considered, why did I ever meddle with it? Why, +it was the first Persian Poem I read, with my friend Edward +Cowell, near on forty years ago: and I was so well pleased with +it then (and now think it almost the best of the Persian Poems I +have read or heard about), that I published my Version of it in +1856 (I think) with Parker of the Strand. When Parker +disappeared, my unsold Copies, many more than of the sold, were +returned to me; some of which, if not all, I gave to little +Quaritch, who, I believe, trumpeted them off to some little +profit: and I thought no more of them.</p> +<p>But some six or seven years ago that Sheikh of mine, Edward +Cowell, who liked the Version better than any one else, wished it +to be reprinted. So I <!-- page 326--><a +name="page326"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 326</span>took it in +hand, boiled it down to three-fourths of what it originally was, +and (as you see) clapt it on the back of Omar, where I still +believed it would hang somewhat of a dead weight; but that was +Quaritch’s look-out, not mine. I have never heard of +any notice taken of it, but just now from you: and I believe +that, say what you would, people would rather have the old Sinner +alone. Therefore it is that I write all this to you. +I doubt not that any of your Editors would accept an Article from +you on the Subject, but I believe also they would much prefer one +on many another Subject: and so probably with the Public whom you +write for.</p> +<p>Thus ‘liberavi animam meam’ for your behoof, as I +am rightly bound to do in return for your Goodwill to me.</p> +<p>As to the publication of my name, I believe I could well +dispense with it, were it other and better than it is. But +I have some unpleasant associations with it: not the least of +them being that it was borne, Christian and Surname, by a man who +left College just when I went there. <a name="citation326"></a><a +href="#footnote326" class="citation">[326]</a> . . . What +has become of him I know not: but he, among other causes, has +made me dislike my name, and made me sign myself (half in fun, of +course), to my friends, as now I do to you, sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">(<span class="smcap">The Laird +of</span>) <span class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>,</p> +<p>where I date from.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 327--><a +name="page327"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 327</span><i>To C. E. +Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 7, [1882].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>You will receive by Post a volume of Translation of +Dante’s Inferno by Musurus Pasha into Modern Greek. I +was so much interested in a quotation from it in our +‘Academy’ that I bought it for myself, and +subsequently thought that a copy might be acceptable to you, +loving both Greek and Dante as you do. Had not I bidden the +London Publishers to send it direct to you, I should have written +your name and my own on the fly-leaf. But you can do this +for us both.</p> +<p>I have not as yet read much of it: for my Eyes are impatient +of the Greek letter; but the Language comes out before me as the +worthiest representative of the Italian: provided it be +pronounced as we have learned to pronounce it, not as the modern +Greek man is said to do. I always maintain that a Language +is apt to sound better from a Foreigner, who idealises the +pronunciation. As to the structure of the language, I doubt +that I may prefer the modern to the ancient because of being +cleared of many μεν, δε, etc., +particles. I think I shall send a Copy to Professor +Goodwin. This is nearly all that I have to send across the +Atlantic to-day, which reminds me that I have just been quoting +(in a little thing <a name="citation327"></a><a +href="#footnote327" class="citation">[327]</a> I may send +you),</p> +<blockquote><p> <!-- page +328--><a name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +328</span>The fleecy Star that bears<br /> +Andromeda far off Atlantic Seas.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>What a Line!</p> +<p>. . . It is, I think, worth your while to look at Dean +Stanley’s Volume of Bishop Thirlwall’s Letters; nay, +even Dean Perowne’s earlier volume, if but to show how the +pedantic Boy grew into the large-hearted Man, and even Bishop: +but, from the first, always sincere, just, and not +pretentious. I remember him at Cambridge: he, Fellow and +Tutor, and I undergraduate: and he took a little fancy to me, I +think.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Hallam Tennyson</i>. <a +name="citation328"></a><a href="#footnote328" +class="citation">[328]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>May</i> 28 [1882].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Hallam</span>,</p> +<p>I believe I ought to be ashamed of reviving the little thing +which accompanies this Letter. My excuse must be that I +have often been askt for a copy when I had no more to give; and a +visit to Cambridge last summer, to the old familiar places, if +not faces, made me take it up once more and turn it into what you +now see. I should certainly not send a copy to you, or +yours, but for what relates to your Father in it. He did +not object, so far as I know, to what I said of him, though not +by name, in a former Edition; but there is more of him in this, +though still not by name, nor, as you see, intended for +Publication. <!-- page 329--><a name="page329"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 329</span>All of this you can read to him, if +you please, at pp. 25 and 56. I do not ask him to say that +he approves of what is said, or meant to be said, in his honour; +and I only ask you to tell me if he disapproves of its going any +further. I owed you a letter in return for the kind one you +sent me; and, if I do not hear from you to the contrary, I shall +take silence, if not for consent, at least not for +prohibition. I really did, and do, wish my first, which is +also my last, little work to record, for a few years at least, my +love and admiration of that dear old Fellow, my old Friend.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>June</i> 9/82.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I told you, I think, but I scarce know when, that I would send +you a very little Tract of mine written forty years ago; and +reformed into its present shape in consequence of copies being +askt for when I had none to give. So a few days at +Cambridge last Summer, among the old places, though not faces, +set me off. ‘Et voilà qui est fait,’ and +posted to you along with this Letter, together with a Copy for +Professor Goodwin. The first and last of my little works: +and I do think a pretty specimen of ‘chisell’d +Cherry-stone.’ Having which opinion myself, I more +than ever <!-- page 330--><a name="page330"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 330</span>deprecate any word of praise from +any to whom I send it. Nay, I even assume beforehand that +you will like it too: and Professor Goodwin also (so do not let +him write): as my little tribute to my own old Cambridge sent to +you in your new. I think I shall send it to Mr. Lowell +too. So you see that I need no compliment, no, nor even +acknowledgment of it. . . .</p> +<p>And now here is enough written. And yet I will enclose +some pretty Verses, <a name="citation330a"></a><a +href="#footnote330a" class="citation">[330a]</a> some twenty +years old, which I sent to ‘Temple Bar,’ which repaid +me (as I deserved) with a dozen copies. And I am always +truly yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Littlegrange the +Laird</span>.</p> +<p>Longfellow and Emerson! <a name="citation330b"></a><a +href="#footnote330b" class="citation">[330b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>July</i> 13/82.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>Here is a speedy reply to your kind Letter. For I wish +to say at once that when Froude has done what he wants with my +Carlyle Papers, you shall have them to do the like. He +thought (as I anticipated) that he could use but two or three of +the Letters, as you will also guess from the scheme and compass +of his Biography, as given in the Letter which I enclose along +with this; but, as I bade him use what he saw good, and <!-- page +331--><a name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +331</span>keep the Papers as long as convenient to him, I cannot +as yet ask him, how much, nor how long. When I think I may +properly do so, I will: and shall be very glad that you should +have them under like conditions. You know that they chiefly +concern Naseby, which might do for an Episode, or separate Item, +in your Book, though not for Froude’s; I should also think +the Letters about that Squire business would be well to clear +somewhat up: but that can scarcely be done unless by vindicating +Squire’s honesty at the expense of his sanity: and, as I +have no reason to suppose but he is yet alive, I know not how +this can be decently done. Froude says he cannot see his +way into the truth further than Carlyle’s printed Article +on the subject goes: but I think Carlyle must have told him his +conviction (whatever it was) some time during their long +acquaintance. Perhaps, however, he was too sick of what he +thought an unimportant controversy to endure any more talk about +it. I am convinced, as from the first, that Squire’s +story was true; and the fragments of Cromwell’s despatches +genuine, though (as Critics pointed out) partially misquoted by a +scatter-brained fellow, ignorant of the subject, and of the +Writer.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 332--><a +name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 332</span><i>To Mrs. +Kemble</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>August</i> 1882].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I have let the Full Moon go by, and very well she looked too, +over the Sea by which I am now staying. Not at Lowestoft; +but at the old extinguished Borough of Aldeburgh, to which as to +other ‘premiers Amours’ I revert: where more than +sixty years ago I first saw, and first felt, the Sea; where I +have lodged in half the houses since; and where I have a sort of +traditional acquaintance with half the population: Clare Cottage +is where I write from; two little rooms, enough for me; a poor +civil woman pleased to have me in them. . . .</p> +<p>The Carlyle ‘Reminiscences’ had long indisposed me +from taking up the Biography. But when I began, and as I +went on with that, I found it one of the most interesting of +Books: and the result is that I not only admire and respect +Carlyle more than ever I did: but even love him, which I never +thought of before. For he loved his Family, as well as for +so long helped to maintain them out of very slender earnings of +his own; and, so far as these two volumes show me, he loved his +wife also, while he put her to the work which he had been used to +see his own Mother and Sisters fulfil, and which was suitable to +the <!-- page 333--><a name="page333"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 333</span>way of Life which he had been used +to. His indifference to her sufferings seems to me rather +because of Blindness than Neglect; and I think his Biographer has +been a little too hard upon him on the Score of selfish disregard +of her.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Aldeburgh</span>. <i>Sept.</i> 1. [1882].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>Still by the Sea, from which I saw The Harvest Moon rise for +her three nights’ Fullness. And to-day is so wet that +I shall try and pay you my plenilunal due, not much to your +satisfaction; for the Wet really gets into one’s Brain and +Spirits, and I have as little to write of as ever any Full Moon +ever brought me. And yet, if I accomplish my letter, and +‘take it to the Barber’s’ where I sadly want to +go, and after being wrought on by him, post my letter, why, you +will, by your Laws, be obliged to answer it. Perhaps you +may have a little to tell me of yourself in requital for the very +little you have to hear of me.</p> +<p>I have made a new Acquaintance here. Professor Fawcett +(Postmaster General, I am told) married a daughter of one Newson +Garrett of this Place, who is also Father of your Doctor +Anderson. Well, the Professor (who was utterly blinded by +the Discharge of his Father’s Gun some twenty or five and +twenty years ago) came to this Lodging to call on Aldis Wright; +and, when Wright was <!-- page 334--><a name="page334"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 334</span>gone, called on me, and also came +and smoked a Pipe one night here. A thoroughly unaffected, +unpretending, man: so modest indeed that I was ashamed afterwards +to think how I had harangued him all the Evening, instead of +getting him to instruct me. But I would not ask him about +his Parliamentary Shop: and I should not have understood his +Political Economy: and I believe he was very glad to be talked to +instead, about some of those he knew, and some whom I had +known. And, as we were both in Crabbe’s Borough, we +talked of him: the Professor, who had never read a word, I +believe, about him, or of him, was pleased to hear a little; and +I advised him to buy the Life written by Crabbe’s Son; and +I would give him my abstract of the Tales of the Hall, by way of +giving him a taste of the Poet’s self.</p> +<p>Yes; you must read Froude’s Carlyle above all things, +and tell me if you do not feel as I do about it. . . . I +regret that I did not know what the Book tells us while Carlyle +was alive; that I might have loved him as well as admired +him. But Carlyle never spoke of himself in that way. +I never heard him advert to his Works and his Fame, except one +day he happened to mention ‘About the time when Men began +to talk of me.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 335--><a +name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 335</span><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Oct.</i> 17, +[1882].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Kemble</span>,</p> +<p>I suppose that you are returned from the Loire by this time; +but as I am not sure that you have returned to the ‘Hotel +des Deux Mondes’ whence you dated your last, I make bold +once more to trouble Coutts with adding your Address to my +Letter. I think I shall have it from yourself not long +after. I shall like to hear a word about my old France, +dear to me from childish associations, and in particular of the +Loire, endeared to me by Sévigné; for I never saw +the glimmer of its waters myself. . . .</p> +<p>It seems to me (but I believe it seems so every year) that our +trees keep their leaves very long; I suppose, because of no +severe frosts or winds up to this time. And my garden still +shows some Geranium, Salvia, Nasturtium, Great Convolvulus, and +that grand African Marigold whose Colour is so comfortable to us +Spanish-like Paddies. I have also a dear Oleander which +even now has a score of blossoms on it, and touches the top of my +little Green-house; having been sent me when ‘haut comme +ça,’ as Marquis Somebody used to say in the days of +Louis XIV. Don’t you love the Oleander? So +clean in its leaves and stem, as so beautiful in its flower; +loving to stand in water which it drinks up so fast. I +rather worship mine.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 336--><a +name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 336</span><i>To W. F. +Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>October</i> 20/82.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>Pray let me hear how you and yours are after your Summer +Holyday. I have been no further for mine than Aldeburgh, an +hour’s Rail distance from here: there I got out boating, +etc., and I think became the more hearty in consequence: but my +Bosom friend Bronchitis puts in a reminder every now and then, +and, I suppose, will come out of his Closet, or Chest, when +Winter sets in. . . .</p> +<p>When I was at Aldeburgh, Professor Fawcett . . . came to see +Aldis Wright who was with me there for a Day. When Wright +was gone, the Professor came to smoke a Pipe (in his case a +Cigar) with me. What a brave, unpretending Fellow! I +should never have guessed that a notable man in any way. +‘Brave’ too I say because of his cheerful Blindness; +for which I should never have forgiven my Father and his +Gun. To see him stalking along the Beach, regardless of +Pebble and Boulder, though with some one by his side to prevent +his going quite to Sea! He was on the Eve of starting for +Scotland—to fish—in the dear Tweed, I think; though +he scarce seemed to know much of Sir Walter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 337--><a +name="page337"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 337</span><i>To S. +Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Littlegrange</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>Nov.</i> 8/82.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>It is long since I have heard from you: which means, long +since I have written to you. But do not impute this to as +long forgetfulness on my part. My days and years go on one +so like another: I see and hear no new thing or person; and to +tell you that I go for a month or a week to our barren coast, +which is all the travel I have to tell of, you can imagine all +that as easily as my stay at home, with the old Pictures about +me, and often the old Books to read. I went indeed to +London last February for the sole purpose of seeing our Donne: +and glad am I to have done so as I heard it gave him a little +pleasure. That is a closed Book now. His Death <a +name="citation337"></a><a href="#footnote337" +class="citation">[337]</a> was not unexpected, and even not to be +deprecated, as you know; but I certainly never remember a year of +such havock among my friends as this: if not by Death itself, by +Death’s preliminary work and warning. . . . I wonder +to find myself no worse dealt with than by Bronchitis, bad +enough, which came upon me last Christmas, hung upon me all +Spring, Summer, and Autumn; and though comparatively dormant for +the last three wet weeks <!-- page 338--><a +name="page338"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 338</span>(perhaps +from repeated doses of Sea Air) gives occasional Signs that it is +not dead, but, on the contrary, will revive with Winter. +Let me hear at least how you have been, and how are; I shall not +grudge your being all well.</p> +<p>Aldis Wright has sent me a very fine Photo of Spedding done +from one of Mrs. Cameron’s of which a copy is at Trinity +Lodge. It is so fine that I scarce know if it gives me more +pleasure or pain to look at it. Insomuch that I keep it in +a drawer, not yet able to make up my mind to have it framed and +so hung up before me.</p> +<p>My good old Housekeeper has been (along with so many more) +very ill, bedded for five or six weeks; only now able to get +about again. I have this morning been scolding her for +sending away a woman who came to do her work, without consulting +me beforehand: she makes out that the woman wanted to go: I find +the woman is very ready to return. ‘These are my +troubles, Mr. Wesley,’ as a Gentleman said to him when the +Footman had put too much coal on the fire.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. [<span +class="smcap">1882</span>.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . The Book which has really, and deeply, interested me, +and quite against Expectation, is <!-- page 339--><a +name="page339"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +339</span>Froude’s Carlyle Biography; which has (quite +contrary to expectation also) not only made me honour Carlyle +more, but even love him, which I had never taken into account +before. In the Biography, Froude seems to me to treat his +man with Candour and Justice: even a little too severe in +attributing to systematic Selfishness what seems to me rather +unreflecting neglect, Carlyle’s relations to his Wife, +whom, so far as we read, he loved. Of his Love for his own +Family, his Generosity to them, and his own sturdy refusal of +help from others, one cannot doubt.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Dec.</i> 20, +[1882].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . You may have read somewhere of an ‘Ajax’ at +our Cambridge over here. Thirty years ago did I tell the +Greek Professor (now Master of Trinity), ‘Have a Greek +Tragedy in (what you call) your Senate-house.’ But I +was not sufficiently important to stir up the +‘Dons.’ Cowell invited me to see and hear +‘Ajax’; but I remained here, content to snuff at it +from the Athenæum of England, not of Attica. And on +the very day that Ajax fretted his hour on the stage, my two old +Housekeepers were celebrating their Fiftieth, or Golden, wedding +over a Bottle of Port wine in the adjoining room, though in that +happier Catastrophe I did not further join.</p> +<p><!-- page 340--><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +340</span>Now, to end with myself; I have hitherto escaped any +severe assault from my ‘Bosom-Enemy,’ Bronchitis, +though he occasionally intimates that he is all safe in his +Closet, and will reappear with the Butterflies, I dare say. +‘Dici Beatus’ let no one in this country boast till +May be over.</p> +<blockquote><p>What you put off, and what you put on,<br /> +Never change till May be gone,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>says an old Suffolk Proverb concerning our Clothing. +Five of my friendly contemporaries have been struck with +Paralysis during this 1882: and here am I with only Bronchitis to +complain of.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>March</i> 7/83.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>I wrote to you some little while before Christmas, praying +you, among other things, not to put yourself to the trouble of +sending me your Emerson-Carlyle Correspondence, inasmuch as I +could easily get it over here; and, by way of answer, your two +Volumes reached me yesterday, safe and sound from over the +Atlantic. I had not time (a strange accident with me) to +acknowledge the receipt of them yesterday: but make all speed to +do so, with all gratitude, to-day. As you are simply the +Editor of the Book, I may tell you something of my thoughts on it +by and by. I doubt not that I shall find Emerson’s +Letters the more interesting, because the newer, to me. +<!-- page 341--><a name="page341"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +341</span>The Portrait at the head of Vol. II. assures me that +one will find only what is good in them.</p> +<p>. . . I was glad to find from Mozley’s Oriel +Reminiscences that Newman had been an admirer of my old Crabbe; +and Mr. L. Stephen has very kindly written out for me a passage +from some late work, or Lecture, of Newman’s own, in which +he says that, after fifty years, he read ‘Richard’s +Story of his Boyhood,’ in the Tales of the Hall, with the +same delight as on its first appearance, and he considers that a +Poem which thus pleases in Age as it pleased in Youth must be +called (in the ‘accidental’ sense of the word, +logically speaking) ‘Classical.’</p> +<p>I owe this Courtesy on Mr. Stephen’s part to my having +sent him a little Preface to my Crabbe, in which I contested Mr. +Stephen’s judgment as to Crabbe’s Humour: and I did +not choose to publish this without apprizing him, whom I know so +far as he is connected with the Thackerays. He replied very +kindly, and sent me the Newman quotation I tell you of. The +Crabbe is the same I sent you some years ago: left in sheets, +except the few Copies I sent to friends. And now I have +tacked to it a little Introduction, and sent forty copies to lie +on Quaritch’s counter: for I do not suppose they will get +further. And no great harm done if they stay where they +are. . . .</p> +<p>One day you must write, and tell me how you and yours have +fared through this winter. It has been a very mild, even, a +warm, one over here; and I for <!-- page 342--><a +name="page342"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 342</span>my part +have not yet had much to complain of in point of health thus far; +no, not even though winter has come at last in Snow and Storm for +the last three days. I do not know if we are yet come to +the worst, so terrible a Gale has been predicted, I am told, for +the middle of March. Yesterday morning I distinctly heard +the sea moaning some dozen miles away; and to-day, why, the +enclosed little scrap, <a name="citation342"></a><a +href="#footnote342" class="citation">[342]</a> enclosed to me, +will tell you what it was about, on my very old Crabbe’s +shore. It (the Sea) will assuredly cut off his old Borough +from the Slaughden River-quay where he went to work, and whence +he sailed in the ‘Unity’ Smack (one of whose Crew is +still alive) on his first adventure to London. But all this +can but little interest you, considering that we in England +(except some few in this Eastern corner of it) scarce know more +of Crabbe and his where about than by name.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Easter</i>, 1883].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Professor Norton sent me his Carlyle-Emerson—all +to the credit of all parties, I think. I must tell the +Professor that in my opinion he <!-- page 343--><a +name="page343"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 343</span>should have +omitted some personal observations which are all fair in a +private letter; as about Tennyson being of a ‘gloomy’ +turn (which you know is not so), Thackeray’s +‘enormous appetite’ ditto; and such mention of +Richard Milnes as a ‘Robin Redbreast,’ etc.; which +may be less untrue, though not more proper to be published of a +clever, useful, and amiable man, now living.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To C. E. Norton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>May</i> 12/83.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Norton</span>,</p> +<p>Your Emerson-Carlyle of course interested me very much, as I +believe a large public also. I had most to learn of +Emerson, and that all good: but Carlyle came out in somewhat of a +new light to me also. Now we have him in his Jane’s +letters, as we had seen something of him before in the +Reminiscences: but a yet more tragic Story; so tragic that I know +not if it ought not to have been withheld from the Public: +assuredly, it seems to me, ought to have been but half of the +whole that now is. But I do not the less recognize Carlyle +for more admirable than before—if for no other reason than +his thus furnishing the world with weapons against himself which +the World in general is glad to turn against him. . . .</p> +<p>And, by way of finishing what I have to say on <!-- page +344--><a name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +344</span>Carlyle for the present, I will tell you that I had to +go up to our huge, hideous, London a week ago, on disagreeable +business; which Business, however, I got over in time for me to +run to Chelsea before I returned home at Evening. I wanted +to see the Statue on the Chelsea Embankment which I had not yet +seen: and the old No. 5 of Cheyne Row, which I had not seen for +five and twenty years. The Statue I thought very good, +though looking somewhat small and ill set-off by its dingy +surroundings. And No. 5 (now 24), which had cost her so +much of her Life, one may say, to make habitable for him, now all +neglected, unswept, ungarnished, uninhabited</p> +<p style="text-align: center">‘TO LET’</p> +<p>I cannot get it out of my head, the tarnished Scene of the +Tragedy (one must call it) there enacted.</p> +<p>Well, I was glad to get away from it, and the London of which +it was a small part, and get down here to my own dull home, and +by no means sorry not to be a Genius at such a Cost. +‘Parlons d’autres choses.’</p> +<p>I got our Woodbridge Bookseller to enquire for your Mr. +Child’s Ballad-book; but could only hear, and indeed be +shown a specimen, of a large Quarto Edition, <i>de luxe</i> I +believe, and would not meddle with that. I do not love any +unwieldy Book, even a Dictionary; and I believe that I am +contented enough with such Knowledge as I have of the old Ballads +in many a handy Edition. Not but I admire <!-- page +345--><a name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +345</span>Mr. Child for such an undertaking as his; but I think +his Book will be more for Great Libraries, Public or Private, +than for my scanty Shelves at my age of seventy-five. I +have already given away to Friends all that I had of any rarity +or value, especially if over octavo.</p> +<p>By the way there was one good observation, I think, in Mrs. +Oliphant’s superficial, or hasty, History of English 18th +Century Literature, viz., that when the Beatties, Blacks, and +other recognized Poets of the Day were all writing in a +‘classical’ way, and tried to persuade Burns to do +the like, it was certain Old Ladies who wrote so many of the +Ballads, which, many of them, have passed as ancient, ‘Sir +Patrick Spence’ for one, I think.</p> +<p>Our Spring flowers have been almost all spoilt by Winter +weather, and the Trees before my window only just now beginning +to</p> +<blockquote><p>Stand in a mist of Green,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>as Tennyson sings. Let us hope their Verdure, late +arrayed, will last the longer. I continue pretty well, with +occasional reminders from Bronchitis, who is my established +Brownie.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 346--><a +name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 346</span><i>To S. +Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Tuesday</i>,<br /> +[<i>June</i> 12, 1883].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>It is very kind of you to remember one who does so little to +remind you of himself. Your drawing of Allen always seemed +to me excellent, for which reason it was that I thought his Wife +should have it, as being the Record of her husband in his younger +days. So of the portrait of Tennyson which I gave his +Wife. Not that I did not value them myself, but because I +did value them, as the most agreeable Portraits I knew of the two +men; and, for that very reason, presented them to those whom they +were naturally dearer to than even to myself. I have never +liked any Portrait of Tennyson since he grew a Beard; Allen, I +suppose, has kept out of that.</p> +<p>If I do not write, it is because I have absolutely nothing to +tell you that you have not known for the last twenty years. +Here I live still, reading, and being read to, part of my time; +walking abroad three or four times a day, or night, in spite of +wakening a Bronchitis, which has lodged like the household +‘Brownie’ within; pottering about my Garden (as I +have just been doing) and snipping off dead Roses like Miss Tox; +and now and then a visit to the neighbouring Seaside, and a +splash to Sea in one of the Boats. I never see a new +Picture, nor hear a note of Music except when I drum out some old +<!-- page 347--><a name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +347</span>Tune in Winter on an Organ, which might almost be +carried about the Streets with a handle to turn, and a Monkey on +the top of it. So I go on, living a life far too +comfortable as compared with that of better, and wiser men: but +ever expecting a reverse in health such as my seventy-five years +are subject to. What a tragedy is that of ---! So +brisk, bright, good, a little woman, who seemed made to +live! And now the Doctors allot her but two years longer at +most, and her friends think that a year will see the End! and +poor ---, tender, true, and brave! His letters to me are +quite fine in telling about it. Mrs. Kemble wrote me word +some two or three months ago that he was looking very old: no +wonder. I am told that she keeps up her Spirits the better +of the two. Ah, Providence might have spared ‘pauvre +et triste Humanité’ that Trial, together with a few +others which (one would think) would have made no difference to +its Supremacy. ‘Voilà ma petite protestation +respectueuse à la Providence,’ as Madame de +Sévigné says.</p> +<p>To-morrow I am going (for my one annual Visit) to G. +Crabbe’s, where I am to meet his Sisters, and talk over old +Bredfield Vicarage days. Two of my eight Nieces are now +with me here in my house, for a two months’ visit, I +suppose and hope. And I think this is all I have to tell +you of</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours ever sincerely<br /> +E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p><!-- page 348--><a name="page348"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +348</span>This was in all probability the last letter FitzGerald +ever wrote. On the following day, Wednesday, June 13, he +went to pay his annual visit at Merton Rectory. On Friday +the 15th I received from Mr. Crabbe the announcement of his +peaceful end: ‘I grieve to have to tell you that our dear +friend Edward FitzGerald died here this morning [June 14]. +He came last evening to pay his usual visit with my sisters, but +did not seem in his usual spirits, and did not eat anything. . . +. At ten he said he would go to bed. I went up with +him. . . . At a quarter to eight I tapped at his door to +ask how he was, and getting no answer went in and found him as if +sleeping peacefully but quite dead. A very noble character +has passed away.’ On the following Tuesday, June 19, +he was buried in the little churchyard of Boulge, and the stone +which marks his grave bears the simple inscription ‘Edward +FitzGerald, Born 31 March 1809, Died 14 June 1883. It is He +that hath made us and not we ourselves.’</p> +<p>For some time before his death he seems to have had a +foreboding that the end was not far distant. In one of the +last conversations I had with him, certainly during my last visit +at Easter 1883, he spoke of his mother’s death, in its +suddenness very like his own, and at the same age. +‘We none of us get beyond seventy-five,’ he +said. At this age his eldest brother had died, four years +before. And in a letter to one of his nieces, after +speaking of the fatal malady by which the wife of a dear friend +was attacked, <!-- page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 349</span>he added, ‘It seems strange to +me to be so seemingly alert—certainly, alive—amid +such fatalities with younger and stronger people. But, even +while I say so, the hair may break, and the suspended Sword +fall. If it would but do so at once, and +effectually!’ Sixteen days later his wish was +fulfilled.</p> +<h2><!-- page 351--><a name="page351"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 351</span>INDEX TO LETTERS</h2> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Aitken</span>, 188</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John Allen</span>, 63*, 70-72*, +74, 169*, 206, 219</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Charles Allen</span>, 7-9*, +14-16*</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Anna Biddell</span>, 134, +178, 179, 189, 205, 295, 304</p> +<p><i>From</i> <span class="smcap">Carlyle</span>, 135, 154, 155, +167, 175*</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Carlyle</span>, 5, 128, 155, +165</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">E. B. Cowell</span>, 1, 4*, 19*, +26, 44*, 52*, 57, 59*, 68*, 78*, 83-86*, 93-95*, 99, 103, 106*, +107, 111*, 128 <i>note</i>, 180, 185, 202, 270 <i>note</i>, 322 +<i>note</i></p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Cowell</span>, 65*, 196, +216</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">George Crabbe</span>, 17, 18, +21, 35, 39, 41, 42, 51, 57, 208 <i>note</i></p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. E. Crowfoot</span>, 118 +<i>note</i></p> +<p><i>From</i> <span class="smcap">W. B. Donne</span>, 169 +<i>note</i></p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. B. Donne</span>, 3, 33, 40, +48, 66, 91, 164</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">FitzEdward hall</span>, 220*</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Lord Houghton</span>, 285*</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Charles Keene</span>, 280, +289-293</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Kemble</span>, 298, 305, +310-312, 320, 332-335</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">S. Laurence</span>, 50, 55, 56, +113-116, 171, 190, 212, 277, 303, 337, 346</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">J. R. Lowell</span>, 224-226, +235, 245-249, 257, 260, 261, 266-272</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">C. E. Norton</span>, 157, 186, +190-192, 196-199, 203, 208, 213, 222, 229-234, 241-244, 253-255, +258, 262, 275, 278, 281, 294, 298, 301, 315-318, 321, 327, 329, +330, 339, 340, 343</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. F. Pollock</span>, 12, 96, +102, 117-121, 127, 130-132, 135, 137-152, 158-163, 168, 172, 181, +307, 336, 338, 342</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Miss S. F. Spedding</span>, 313, +314</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Frederic Tennyson</span>, 89</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Hallam</span> (now <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>) <span class="smcap">Tennyson</span>, +328</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Alfred</span> (now the +<span class="smcap">Dowager Lady</span>) <span +class="smcap">Tennyson</span>, 308</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Thackeray</span>, 141 +<i>note</i>, 207</p> +<p><!-- page 352--><a name="page352"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +352</span><i>From</i> <span class="smcap">W. H. Thompson</span>, +174*</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. H. Thompson</span>, 11, 24, +28-31, 34, 36*, 51, 73, 76, 77, 80*, 123, 177*, 296*</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. W. H. Thompson</span>, 108, +183</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">R. C. Trench</span>, 23, 62, +284, 287</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">H. Schütz Wilson</span>, +324</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. A. Wright</span>, 97, 126, +133, 217, 238, 239, 251, 322*</p> +<p><i>The asterisks indicate the letters which are here printed +for the first time</i>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 353--><a name="page353"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 353</span>INDEX</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Academy</span> (Royal), Exhibition of, i. +39</p> +<p>Acis and Galatea, i. 101, 102, 239</p> +<p>Aconites, ‘New Year’s Gifts,’ ii. 180, +320</p> +<p>Æschylus, the geography of the Agamemnon, ii. 33-35; +FitzGerald’s translation of the Agamemnon, 109, 112, 162, +186, 188, 216; reviewed in the Nation, 224; Dr. Kennedy’s +translation, 259</p> +<p>Airy (William), at school with FitzGerald, i. 2; visits him at +Woodbridge, ii. 66</p> +<p>Aitken (Lucy), her letters, ii. 64</p> +<p>Aldeburgh, ii. 290-292, 332; storm at, 342</p> +<p>Allegro and Penseroso, i. 153, 166</p> +<p>Allen (Anne), i. 72</p> +<p>—(Dr.), i. 79</p> +<p>—John, at Cambridge with FitzGerald, i. 2; letters to, +4, 5, etc.; his portrait by Laurence, ii. 15, 346</p> +<p>—(Mary), i. 70, 72, 73</p> +<p>Allenby (Mrs.), i. 155</p> +<p>Arnold (Dr.), his visit to Naseby with Carlyle, i. 125, 126, +132; his Life, 181</p> +<p>Art, objects of, article in Fraser, ii. 145</p> +<p>Arthur (King), the myth of, not suitable for an epic poem, +ii.. 111</p> +<p>Attár’s Mantic uttair, i. 311, 312, 314-317, 319, +320, 342</p> +<p>Ausonius, i. 205 <i>note</i></p> +<p>Austen (Miss), ii. 13, 131, 174; FitzGerald could not read her +novels, 190</p> +<p>Austin (Mrs.), characteristics of Goethe, i. 53</p> +<p>Azaël the Prodigal, i. 268</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bacon</span>, Essay of Friendship, i. 21; +of Masques, 153; Sylva, ii. 160</p> +<p>Balfe, ballad by, i. 178</p> +<p>Barton (Bernard), his poems, i. 105; his visit to Peel, 203; +his portrait by Laurence, 215, 225, 234; his death, 243, 246; +edition of his Letters and Poems with Memoir by FitzGerald, 246, +251, 252, 308</p> +<p>—(Lucy), afterwards Mrs. Edward FitzGerald, i. 50 +<i>note</i>, <!-- page 354--><a name="page354"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 354</span>158, 186, 215, 216, 246, 249, 310, +326</p> +<p>Bassano, i. 186</p> +<p>Bath, i. 288</p> +<p>Beaumont (Sir G.), i. 165</p> +<p>Beauty the main object of the Arts, ii. 132</p> +<p>Beauty Bob, FitzGerald’s parrot, i. 159</p> +<p>Beckford (Peter), Essays on Hunting, ii. 280</p> +<p>—(W.), i. 288</p> +<p>Beethoven, i. 57, 103, 113, 195, 200, 277, 290, ii. 118, 119, +his Life by Moscheles, i. 112</p> +<p>Béranger, his Letters, ii. 152, quoted 181</p> +<p>Berry (Miss), her correspondence, ii. 73</p> +<p>Bewick, his Life contains an account of a meeting of +Wordsworth and Foscolo, ii. 197</p> +<p>Blake, Songs of Innocence, i. 25</p> +<p>Bletsoe, i. 61; the Falcon Inn, 74</p> +<p>Bloomfield (Mrs.), mother of the poet, a saying of hers +quoted, ii. 88</p> +<p>Boccaccio, ii. 203, 204</p> +<p>Bodham (Mrs.), i. 190</p> +<p>Borrow (George), i. 317, 334, 342; his Romany Rye, 331; Wild +Wales, ii. 35</p> +<p>Bosherston, i. 337</p> +<p>Boswell’s Life of Johnson, Croker’s edition of, +ii. 75</p> +<p>Boughton, pictures at, i. 56</p> +<p>Boulge Hall, his father’s seat, i. 38, 75; +‘Malebolge,’ 79 <i>note</i></p> +<p>Brambelli, i. 194</p> +<p>Bredfield House, i. 1, 63, 64</p> +<p>Brooke (F. C.), ii. 146</p> +<p>Browne (W.), Britannia’s Pastorals, ii. 240</p> +<p>Browne (W. K.), i. 55, 123, 167; his marriage, 168, 185; first +meets FitzGerald at Tenby, 338; ii. 8, 10; his fatal accident +2-4, 6, 8</p> +<p>Browning Society (the), ii. 323</p> +<p>Brydges (Sir Egerton), i. 87</p> +<p>Burke’s Letters, i. 182</p> +<p>Burnet (John), on Painting, i. 147</p> +<p>Burnet’s History, i. 68</p> +<p>Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, i. 139; Carlyle’s +style influenced by, <i>ib.</i></p> +<p>Busbequius, i. 230</p> +<p>Byron’s Verses on Rogers, ii. 144</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Calderon</span>, translations from, i. +281, 282, 323, 346, 347; ii. 60, 112, 261; edition of the +Mágico, 262; his lines about Madrid, 274; unfavourably +noticed in the Athenæum, i. 284; Trench’s translation +from 307; ii. 287; the Calderon medal sent to FitzGerald, 319</p> +<p>Campion (J. S.), On Foot in Spain, ii. 273</p> +<p>Carew quoted, i. 12, 13</p> +<p>Carlyle (Mrs.), her letters, ii. 343</p> +<p>—(T.), his French Revolution, i. 50; reviewed by +Spedding, 73; Miscellanies, 65; Hero Worship, 82, 85; Sartor +Resartus, 123; Cromwell, 126, etc, 187, 190, 196, 207; his +account of the battle of Naseby, 205; writes on Ireland in the +Examiner, 239, 253; his saying about Dickens, 251; his Latter Day +Pamphlets, 258; at Malvern 272; at Firlingay with FitzGerald, +295; at Croydon, 302; reading <!-- page 355--><a +name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 355</span>Voltaire, +302; his Frederic the Great, ii. 7, 64; Mrs. Carlyle’s +death, 89; Letters on Naseby, 128; on Omar Khayyám, 154, +155; article in Fraser, 178-180; staying near Bromley, 183; his +letters to FitzGerald about Cromwell, 184; Medal and Address +presented to him on his eightieth birthday, 186; his Lectures on +Hero Worship, 191; his visit to Dumfries, 201; reads Victor Hugo, +229; till past midnight at his books, 234, 236; his visit to +Thirlwall, 237; reading Goethe, 253; sends FitzGerald his Norway +Kings and Knox, 254; reads Shakespeare through to himself, 270; +buried at Ecclefechan, 298, 309; his Reminiscences, 302, 304, +308, 311, 317; his visit to Ireland, 323; Biography, 332, 334, +339; correspondence with Emerson, 340, 342</p> +<p>Castle Ashby, pictures at, i. 121</p> +<p>Catullus, ii. 232, 233, 238, 239</p> +<p>Charlesworth (Miss E.), afterwards Mrs. E. B. Cowell, i. 156, +160, 174; her poems, ii. 54</p> +<p>—(Miss M.), ii. 54</p> +<p>Cherubini’s Medea, ii. 119</p> +<p>Child (Professor), his English Ballads, ii. 344</p> +<p>Childs (Charles), of Bungay, i. 265</p> +<p>Chorley’s Musical Recollections, ii. 127</p> +<p>Churchyard (T.), a solicitor at Woodbridge, and an amateur +artist, i. 94, 117, 133, 147, 148, 159, 190, 192, 2l6, 221, 243; +calls the winter Aconites ‘New Year’s Gifts’, +ii. 180; his sketch of Thorpe headland by Aldeburgh, 292</p> +<p>Clarissa Harlowe, i. 108; ii. 64, 107, 208; a favourite with +Alfred de Musset, 243, 248</p> +<p>Clarke (E. W.), i. 114</p> +<p>Claude, i. 54</p> +<p>Clive (Kitty), her saying of Mrs. Siddons, ii. 184</p> +<p>Clora, verses to, i. 15, 19</p> +<p>Coleridge, Life by De Quincey, i. 32</p> +<p>Collins (Wilkie), The Woman in White, ii. 90, 95, 131</p> +<p>Constable (J.), pictures by, i. 76-78, 100, 104, 106, 117, +159; Life by Leslie, 165</p> +<p>Contat (Mademoiselle), ii. 148</p> +<p>Cookson (Dr. W.), a correspondent of Carlyle’s, i. 156, +157; his death, 161</p> +<p>Coverley, Sir Roger de, suggested illustrations of, by +Thackeray, i. 29, 39</p> +<p>Cowell (E. B.), his translations from Hafiz, i. 205, 294, 304, +306, 332; paper on the Mesnavi, 232; goes up to Oxford, 261; +article on Calderon in the Westminster Review, 284, 307; his +Pracrit Grammar, 286; his Oxford Essay, 307; appointed Professor +of History at the Presidency College, Calcutta 309; his +translation of Azräel, ii. 27; visits FitzGerald on his +return to England, 57; elected Sanskrit Professor at Cambridge, +93; his Inaugural Lecture, 95, 97; visits FitzGerald at +Woodbridge, 232; his suggestion for a Spanish Dictionary on the +plan of Littré, 258, 273; at Lowestoft <!-- page 356--><a +name="page356"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 356</span>with +FitzGerald reading Don Quixote, 272, 274-277</p> +<p>Cowley, ii. 26</p> +<p>Crabbe (Rev. George), the poet, hears Wesley preach at +Lowestoft, i. 292; quoted, ii. 17, 163, 187, 210, 211, 256, 272; +selections from his poems, 67, 211, 214, 258, 281; portraits of +him, 171; FitzGerald’s admiration for, 210, 215; readings +from, 264, 266; his humour, 209, 269, 281; his epigrammatic +power, 270, 272; article on him in the Atlantic Monthly, 281</p> +<p>—(Rev. George), Vicar of Bredfield, i. 39, 187, 260, +262, 265, 266, 274, 286, 296, 297; ii. 210; reads D’ +Israeli’s Coningsby, i. 174; Whewell’s Plurality of +Worlds, 293; his illness, 334; and death, 340</p> +<p>—(Rev. George), Rector of Merton, his account of +FitzGerald, i. 148, 149</p> +<p>Crome, i. 117, 191</p> +<p>Cromwell, i. 137; his Lincolnshire campaign, 154; miniature +copied by Laurence, 198; the Squire Letters, 213</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dante</span>, his portrait by Giotto, i. +90, 93; like Homer atones with the sea, ii. 45; quoted, 48, 146; +translated into Modern Greek by Musurus Pasha, 323, 327</p> +<p>D’Arblay (Madame), anecdote of, ii. 56; on +Johnson’s later years, 75</p> +<p>Darien Song (the), i. 100</p> +<p>Davenant’s alteration of Macbeth, i. 31</p> +<p>De Quincey, life of Coleridge, i. 32; paper on Southey, etc., +in Tait’s Magazine, 65; on Wordsworth, 199; proposed to +Lowell as the subject for an Essay, ii. 246</p> +<p>De Soyres (the Rev. John), FitzGerald’s nephew, his +edition of Pascal’s Letters, ii. 297</p> +<p>Deutsch (Emanuel), his article on the Talmud in the Quarterly, +ii. 97</p> +<p>Dickens (C.), Master Humphrey’s Clock, i. 66; Dombey and +Son, 238; David Copperfield, 251, 255; Holyday Romance, ii. 147; +his Life by Forster, 153, 171, 277; FitzGerald’s admiration +for, 172, 278</p> +<p>D’Israeli’s Lothair, ii. 134</p> +<p>Don Giovanni, i. 58, 195</p> +<p>Donne (John), sermons, i. 42; poems, ii. 26</p> +<p>—(W. B.), at school with FitzGerald, i. 2; +FitzGerald’s affection for him, 22 <i>note</i>; article on +Hallam, 80; writes in the British and Foreign Review, 84; engaged +upon a History of Rome, 97, 99, 115; his Address to the Norwich +Athenæum, 204; removes to Bury, 207; his portrait by +Laurence, 259; articles on Pepys, 260; Deputy Licenser of Plays, +268; succeeds Kemble as Licenser of Plays, 323; writes on +Calderon in Fraser, <i>ib.</i>; on the Antonines in the +Edinburgh, ii. 53; his story of Lord Chatham and the Bishops, 68; +article in the Athenæum on his edition of the +Correspondence <!-- page 357--><a name="page357"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 357</span>of George III. and Lord North, 91; +his proposed edition of Tacitus, 93; his account of Tacitus in +Ancient Classics for English Readers, 164; his declining health, +322; his death, 337</p> +<p>Donne (W. Mowbray), ii. 53</p> +<p>Don Quixote, ii. 94, 95, 97, 170, 198, 199, 201-204, 268, 272, +274</p> +<p>Doudan, ii. 234, 243, 249</p> +<p>Dryden, ii. 216; his Prefaces, 227; his prose style, 228</p> +<p>Duncan (Francis), i. 222, 223; ii. 71; stays with FitzGerald +at Woodbridge, 77</p> +<p>Dunwich, ruins of the Grey Friars’ Monastery, ii. 223, +225, 228, 229, 255, 258, 277</p> +<p>Dysart (Louisa, Countess of), portrait of, by Sir Joshua +Reynolds, i. 56</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Eastlake</span> (C. L.), i. 39; his +translation of Goethe’s Theory of Colours, 67, 80</p> +<p>Edgeworth (F.), i. 31, 88; his wife and sister-in-law, 36; +living at Eltham, 43; article on Pindar, 80; mentioned, 142, 144; +his death, 210; mentioned in Carlyle’s Life of Stirling, +ii. 184</p> +<p>—(Miss), i. 88-90, 144</p> +<p>Edwards (Edwin), ii. 122, 146; his illness, 255, 258; and +death, 277</p> +<p>—(Mrs.), ii. 303</p> +<p>Eliot (George), The Mill on the Floss, ii. 159; not admired by +FitzGerald, 190, 257</p> +<p>Elliott (Ebenezer), Posthumous Poems, i. 255, 256</p> +<p>Emerson (R. W.), Representative Men, i. 256; on Scott, ii. +194; his death, 330; correspondence with Carlyle, 340, 342, +343</p> +<p>English Gentry (the), i. 68</p> +<p>Eothen, i. 189</p> +<p>Etty (W.), picture of the Bridge of Sighs, i. 39; +‘Aaron,’ 239; ‘John the Baptist,’ +<i>ib.</i></p> +<p>Euphranor, i. 211, 266, 267; ii. 103, 150, 228, 317, 328, 329; +praised by Tennyson, ii. 104</p> +<p>Euripides, ii. 48, 49, 85, 87</p> +<p>Evans (R. W.), i. 73</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Faires</span> (Mrs.), FitzGerald’s +housekeeper at Boulge Cottage, i. 149, 159</p> +<p>Fidelio, ii. 118</p> +<p>Fields’ Yesterdays with Authors, ii. 145</p> +<p>FitzGerald, Edward, born at Bredfield, i. 1; goes to Paris, +<i>ib.</i>; to school at Bury St. Edmunds, 2; to Trinity College, +Cambridge, <i>ib.</i>; took his degree, 3; at Southampton, 5; at +Naseby, <i>ib.</i>; earliest attempt at verse, 5-9; visits +Salisbury, 10; and Bemerton, <i>ib.</i>; at Tenby, 11, 46, 69, +70; his Paradise, a collection of English verse, 12; reads +Shakespeare’s Sonnets, 14; adopts a vegetable diet, 22; +living in London, 24; sees Shakespeare’s Hamlet, 24, 28; +Henry VIII., 24; Macbeth, 25, 31; with Spedding at Cambridge, 28; +living at Wherstead Lodge, <i>ib.</i>; his friendships like +loves, 30; reading The Merry Wives of Windsor, <i>ib.</i>; and +the Spectator, <i>ib.</i>; with Spedding and Tennyson at +Mirehouse, 33; <!-- page 358--><a name="page358"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 358</span>ii. 305, 310, 315; at Ambleside, i. +33; his father removes to Boulge, 38, 39; reading Aristophanes, +44, 47; his cottage at Boulge, 47, 48; reading Plutarch’s +Lives, <i>ib.</i>, and Lyell’s Geology, <i>ib.</i>; his +marriage with Miss Barton, 50 <i>note</i>; stays in Bedfordshire, +52, 61, 67; at Lowestoft with W. Browne, 55; reading Pindar, 56; +Tacitus, 60; Homer, 64; at his uncle Peter Purcell’s at +Halverstown, 62; reads Burnet, 68; Herodotus, 71; regrets his +want of scholarship, <i>ib.</i>; grows bald, <i>ib.</i>; makes +Tar water, 72; reads Newman’s sermons, 73; buys a picture +by Constable, 76; stays at Edgeworthstown, 88; at Naseby, 90; +reads Livy, 97; invited to lecture at Ipswich, 97, 99; his +opinion of his own verses, 105; first meets Carlyle, 125; his +excavations at Naseby, and correspondence with Carlyle, 126, +etc.; reads Virgil’s Georgics, 134; in Ireland, 141-143; +his cottage at Boulge, 150; visits Carlyle, 159, 169; his life at +Boulge, 164, 176, 180; visits W. B. Donne, 173; makes an abstract +of the Old Curiosity Shop for children, 174; at Leamington, 175; +at Cambridge, 210; reads Thucydides, 214, 228, 233, 248; his +interview with William Squire, 216-220; at Exeter, 220; reads +Homer, 228; contributes notes to Selden’s Table Talk, 231; +his father’s death, 278; translations from Calderon, 281; +studies Persian, 282, 285, 286; at Farlingay, 287, 294; at Bath, +287; at Oxford, 290; Carlyle stays with him at Farlingay, 295; +translates Jámí’s Salámán and +Absál, 304, 306; reading Hafiz, 311; and +Attár’s Mantic uttair, i. 311; which he translates, +312, 313, etc.; ii. 44, 100; reading Æschylus, i. 324, 325; +thinks of translating the Trilogy, 330; at Gorlestone, 331; +reading Omar Khayyám, 332, 335; his epitome of +Attár’s Mantic uttair, 342, 348; his translations +from Omar Khayyám offered to Fraser’s Magazine, 345, +348; ii. 2, 29; translates Calderon’s Mighty Magician, i. +346; ii. 60; and Vida es Sueño, i. 347; ii. 5, 61, 62; +collects a Vocabulary of rustic English, i. 347; prints his +translation of Omar, ii. 2, 4, 29; stays at Aldeburgh, 16; gives +a fragment of Tennyson’s MS. to Thompson, 25; who returns +it, 28; his new boat, 37, 40, 45; at Merton with George Crabbe, +39; at Ely, <i>ib.</i>; goes to Holland, 42; reads Dante and +Homer, 45, 48; the sea brings up his appetite for Greek, 49; buys +Little Grange, 57; sends his translation of the Mighty Magician +to Trench, 62; and of Vida es Sueño to Archdeacon Allen, +63; proposes a Selection from Crabbe, 67; carries Sophocles to +sea with him, 78, 79, 82, 83, 85; makes his will, 80; does not +care for Horace, 82, <!-- page 359--><a name="page359"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 359</span>83; reads Euripides, 86, 87; The +Woman in White, 90, 95; his Herring-lugger, 90, 94, 101, 103, +109; reads Don Quixote, 94, 95, 97, 170; and Boccaccio, 95, 97; +his Lugger Captain, 94, 101, 103, 106, 107, 110, 113-116, 213; +his Sea Words and Phrases, 116; proposes to adapt the music of +Fidelio to Tennyson’s King Arthur, 119; his acquaintance +with Spanish, 121; gives up his yacht, The Scandal, 126; reads +Scott, 128; cannot read George Eliot, 159, 190; goes to Naseby +about the monument, 160; reports his failure to Carlyle, 165; +goes to Abbotsford, 172, 194; makes the acquaintance of Madame de +Sévigné, 184, 185; begins to ‘smell the +ground,’ 185; sends the Agamemnon and two Calderon plays to +Professor Norton, 186, 187; death of his old boatman, 217; reads +Munro’s Lucretius, <i>ib.</i>; Carlyle’s Cromwell, +229, 230; at Dunwich, 255; his Readings from Crabbe, 264, 266; +his Half Hours with the Worst Authors, 280; sends his Readings +from Crabbe to Trench, 284; does not care for modern poetry, 288; +his Quarter-deck, 293; is troubled with pains about the heart, +296; sends Professor Norton Part II. of Œdipus, 301; has +Carlyle’s Meerschaum as a relic, 303; spends two days at +Cambridge, 316; receives the Calderon medal, 319; reads the +Fortunes of Nigel, 321; at Aldeburgh, 332; reads Carlyle’s +Biography, 332, 334, 339; meets Professor Fawcett, 333, 336; his +last letter, 346; dies at Merton, 348; and is buried at Boulge, +<i>ib.</i></p> +<p>FitzGerald (Isabella), FitzGerald’s sister, i. 73, +161</p> +<p>—(John Purcell), FitzGerald’s eldest brother, his +wife’s illness, i. 35, 48; mentioned, 50; his death, ii. +263, 267</p> +<p>—(Lusia or Andalusia), Mrs. De Soyres, +FitzGerald’s sister, i. 95; her marriage, 174; her home in +Somersetshire, 222</p> +<p>—(Mary Frances), FitzGerald’s mother, i. <span +class="smcap">i</span>; her portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, ii. +297</p> +<p>—(Peter), brother of Edward, ii. 66; his wife, 68; her +illness, 77; and death, 82, 85, 86</p> +<p>Fletcher, quoted, i. 16, 17</p> +<p>Ford (Richard), Gatherings in Spain, ii. 320</p> +<p>Forster’s Life of Dickens, ii. 153, 277</p> +<p>Foscolo, ii. 197</p> +<p>Franco-German War (the), ii. 117</p> +<p>Freestone, the Allens’ house at, i. 69-71, 337; ii. +10</p> +<p>French character, change in, ii. 118 <i>note</i></p> +<p>French Revolution, i. 235</p> +<p>Frere (Mrs.), i. 58</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gainsborough</span> Fight, i. 161, 162</p> +<p>—(T.), the Watering Place, i. 78, 95; picture attributed +<!-- page 360--><a name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +360</span>to, 94, 95; ‘the Goldsmith of Painters,’ +95; his method, 147; copy by Laurence of his portrait of Dupont, +ii. 56; his saying on his deathbed, <i>ib.</i></p> +<p>Gasker (Athanasius), Library of Useless Knowledge, i. 114</p> +<p>Gay (Sophie), Salons de Paris, ii. 148</p> +<p>Geldart (Joseph), i. 173, 243</p> +<p>Geldestone Hall, the residence of Fitz-Gerald’s sister, +Mrs. Kerrich, i. 3, etc.</p> +<p>Generals (The Two), ii. 105, 107</p> +<p>Gil Blas, ii. 180</p> +<p>Gillies, his Life of a Literary Veteran, contains letters of +Wordsworth and notices of Scott, ii. 197, 199</p> +<p>Goethe, Characteristics of, i. 53; Theory of Colours, 67; +Tennyson’s saying of him, ii. 193; translation of Faust, +262; FitzGerald believed in him as philosopher and critic, not as +poet, <i>ib.</i>; his theory that the two Œdipuses and +Antigone were a Trilogy, 278</p> +<p>Goethe and Schiller, correspondence of, ii. 320</p> +<p>Gordon (Lady Duff), her Letters from Egypt, ii. 69</p> +<p>Gray’s Ode on a distant prospect of Eton College, i. 63; +his Elegy, ii, 209, 270; his opinion of Dryden’s prose, +228</p> +<p>Griffin (Gerald), The Collegians, i. 90</p> +<p>Groome (J. H.), i. 260</p> +<p>—(R. H.), Archdeacon of Suffolk, ii. 59, 73, 97, 200, +253</p> +<p>Gurgoyle School of Art (the), ii. 248</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hafiz</span>, i. 205, 294, 304, 306, 311, +319, 320, 322</p> +<p>Half Hours with the Worst Authors, ii. 280</p> +<p>Ham, i. 275</p> +<p>Hampton Court, i. 276</p> +<p>Handel, i. 101-103, 111, 112, 153, 166, 183, 200, 265, 266, +290; ii. 49</p> +<p>Hare (A. J. C.), his Spain, ii. 169; Memorials <i>ib.</i></p> +<p>—(J. C. and A. W.), Guesses at Truth, i. 53</p> +<p>Harrington’s Oceana, i. 140</p> +<p>Hatifi, i. 329, 348</p> +<p>Hawthorne (Nathaniel), ii. 145; a man of true genius, 191, +246, 265, 271; his Journal in England, 265; a noble book, 267; +FitzGerald does not take to him, 105, 246, 271; his Italian +Journal, 273</p> +<p>Haydon (B. R.), Memoir by his son, contains notices of +Wordsworth, ii. 197, 199</p> +<p>Haymarket Theatre (the), associated with Vestris, ii. 120, +138; Pasta, 138, 295; and Rubini, 295</p> +<p>Hazlitt (W.), his English Poets, ii. 196</p> +<p>Heine (H.), ii. 150, 162</p> +<p>Helmingham Hall, i. 56</p> +<p>Herodotus, i. 71, 73</p> +<p>Holmes (O. W.), ii. 191</p> +<p>Hugo (Victor), Toilers of the Sea, ii. 145, 150; his +Misérables, 229</p> +<p>Hullah, i. 243</p> +<p>Hunt (Holman), his Christ in the Temple, ii. 17</p> +<p>—(Leigh), selections by, i. 179</p> +<p>Hypocrite (the), i. 254</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ingelow</span> (Jean), ii. 46, 47, 54</p> +<p><!-- page 361--><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +361</span><span class="smcap">Jámí’s</span> +Salámán and Absál, i. 304, 306, 312, 317, +318; new edition of FitzGerald’s version, ii. 263, 324; the +first Persian poem read by FitzGerald, 325</p> +<p>Jeláleddín, i. 312, 317, 319; ii. 27</p> +<p>Jenney (Mr.), the owner of Bredfield House, i. 63, 64, 96, +106</p> +<p>Johnson’s lines on Levett quoted, i. 124; his bookcase, +196</p> +<p>Juvenal, ii. 34, 35, 58, 59</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Keats’</span> Letters and Poems, i. +246; his Hyperion, ii. 178, 246, 249; his Love Letters, 233, 235, +238, 245; subject for picture from K., 235, 239, 293; his sister, +249; Severn’s letters about him, 276</p> +<p>Keene (C. S.), sends a packet of his drawings to FitzGerald, +ii. 291; and an old map of Paris, 293; recommends North’s +Memoir of Music, 323</p> +<p>Kemble (Charles), i. 44</p> +<p>—(J. M.), at school with FitzGerald, i. 2; recites +Hotspur’s speech, <i>ib.</i>, working on Anglo Saxon MSS. +at Cambridge, 25; article in the British and Foreign Review, 80, +84</p> +<p>—(Mrs. Fanny), her opinion of the translations from +Calderon, ii. 67, 187; makes the Agamemnon known in America, 186, +188; declines to join the Browning Society, 323</p> +<p>Kerrich (Mrs), FitzGerald’s favourite sister, her death, +ii. 46</p> +<p>—(Walter), FitzGerald’s nephew, married, i. +335</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ladies Magazine,</span> ii. 140</p> +<p>Lamb (Charles), Album Verses, i. 32; Essays in the London +Magazine, 143; Letters, ii. 198, 240; FitzGerald’s Data of +his life, 239, 242, 247</p> +<p>Landor (W. S.), i. 288, 289</p> +<p>Laurence (S.), Spedding’s description of, i. 75 +<i>note</i>, his opinion of Gainsborough, 95; his portraits of +Wilkinson, 167, 170; Coningham, 166, 171; Barton, 215, 225, 234; +Tennyson, 242, 243; Donne, 259; studies the Venetian secret of +colour, 243; his portrait of Archdeacon Allen, ii. 15; his +opinion of Romney’s portraits, 41; his portraits of +Thackeray, 50, 55; asked by FitzGerald to copy +Pickersgill’s portrait of Crabbe, 171</p> +<p>Le Désert, i. 194</p> +<p>Lever (C.), his Cornelius O’Dowd, ii. 181</p> +<p>Lewis (G. Cornewall), ii. 183</p> +<p>Lily (Lyly or Lilly) quoted, i. 15</p> +<p>Lind (Jenny), i. 224, 237, 239</p> +<p>Longfellow, ii. 191; his death, 330</p> +<p>Longus, i. 211</p> +<p>Louis Philippe, i. 59</p> +<p>Louvre, the, i. 4</p> +<p>Lowell (J. R.), Among my Books, ii. 191, 192, 199, 203; his +Odes, 208, 215; his Essays, 222, 223, 226, 227, 229, 230; +proposed to visit FitzGerald, 224, 225; his Moosehead Journal, +233; Mrs. Lowell’s illness, 272</p> +<p>Lowestoft, the beachmen decline <!-- page 362--><a +name="page362"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 362</span>to join the +Naval Reserve, ii. 13</p> +<p>Lucretius, ii. 58; Professor Sellar’s article on, +<i>ib.</i>, Munro’s edition, 82, 217-219; quoted, 218; +coincidence with Bacon, 219</p> +<p>Lushington (Franklin), i. 291</p> +<p>Luton, pictures at, i. 74</p> +<p>Lyell’s Geology, i. 229</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaulay</span>’s Memoirs, ii. +200</p> +<p>Macnish (Dr.), lines on Milton, i. 65</p> +<p>Macready as Wolsey, i. 24; as Macbeth, 24, 25; as Hamlet, 28; +his revival of Acis and Galatea, 102; as Virginius, ii. 120, 158; +his funeral, 158</p> +<p>Malkin (Arthur), his marriage, i. 27</p> +<p>—(Dr.), master of Bury School, his opinion of Crabbe, +ii. 300</p> +<p>Manfred, i. 31</p> +<p>Martial, i. 229, 230</p> +<p>Martineau (Miss), cured by mesmerism, i. 179</p> +<p>Marvell (Andrew), quoted, ii. 133, 134</p> +<p>Matthews (Rev. T. R.), of Bedford, i. 122, 160, 169; his +death, 197</p> +<p>Maurice (F. D.), his Introductory Lecture, i. 139; the Kingdom +of Christ, <i>ib.</i></p> +<p>Mazzinghi, (T. J.), i. 14</p> +<p>Mendelssohn, new Symphony by, i. 120; his Midsummer +Night’s Dream, 177, 237; Elijah, 237; Fingal’s Cave, +<i>ib.</i>; his opinion of Donizetti, ii. 127</p> +<p>Merivale (C.), Dean of Ely, his marriage, i. 264; History of +Rome, <i>ib.</i>; ii. 260; meets FitzGerald at Lowestoft, 297</p> +<p>Meyerbeer, i. 277</p> +<p>Millais, ii. 142, 173, 293</p> +<p>Milnes (R. M.), Lord Houghton, i. 114; ii. 245, 249</p> +<p>Molière, his Life by Taschereau, ii. 150</p> +<p>Montagu (Basil), Selections from Jeremy Taylor, etc. i. 34; +Life of Bacon, 42; a saying of his recorded, 151</p> +<p>Montaigne, ii. 91, 92, 95, 97, 98; traces of him in +Shakespeare and Bacon, 251</p> +<p>Montgomery (James), quoted, i. 185</p> +<p>—(Robert), i. 169</p> +<p>Moor (Major), i. 89; his death, 235; his Oriental Fragments, +308</p> +<p>Moore (Morris), i. 166, 175, 210, 239; his controversy with +Eastlake, 225</p> +<p>—(T.), his Memoirs, i. 286</p> +<p>Morland, picture by, i. 192</p> +<p>Morton (Savile), i, 58, 59, 77, 81, 83, 85, 88, 93, 101, 104, +118, 121, 123, 150, 170, 177, 181, 188, 202, 239; a selection of +his Letters sent to Blackwood’s Magazine but not published, +ii. 76, 141; others collected by FitzGerald, 76, 89, 141</p> +<p>Moxon (E.) his Sonnets, i. 87</p> +<p>Mozart, i. 195, 200, 277; ii. 119; his Requiem, 122, 123; his +Così, 151</p> +<p>Mozley’s Reminiscences of Oriel, ii. 341</p> +<p>Müller (Max), Essay on Comparative Mythology, i. 309; on +Darwin, ii. 160</p> +<p>Munro (H. A. J.), his edition of Lucretius, ii. 82, 217-219; +his Criticisms and Elucidations of Catullus, 232, 236, 238</p> +<p><!-- page 363--><a name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +363</span>Musset (Alfred de), ii. 243, 248</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Naseby</span>, i. 5, 75</p> +<p>—battle of, i. 91, 125; FitzGerald’s excavations, +126, etc., 206; ii. 129; Carlyle’s proposed inscription for +a pillar, i. 301; ii. 128, 132, 135, 136</p> +<p>Nelson (John), his Autobiography, ii. 105:</p> +<p>—(Lord), ii. 23</p> +<p>Newman (J. H.), his Sermons, i. 73; his Apologia, ii. 57, 72; +an admirer of Crabbe, 341</p> +<p>Newson, captain of FitzGerald’s yacht, his son drowned +off Cromer, ii. 189</p> +<p>Newton, Roubiliac’s statue of, ii. 161; suggested +inscription for, <i>ib.</i></p> +<p>—(Dr.), a writer on Vegetable Regimen, i. 23 +<i>note</i></p> +<p>—(Rev. J.), his journal, i. 41</p> +<p>—(Napoleon), i. 311, 312, 321, 329; his death, 332</p> +<p>Niebuhr, i. 97</p> +<p>Nizámí, i. 300, 317</p> +<p>Nonnus, i. 211</p> +<p>Northcote, picture by, i. 99, 101</p> +<p>Norton (Professor C. E.), ii. 153; his translation of +Dante’s Vita Nuova, 201, 203, 205; his Report on Olympia, +232, 233</p> +<p>Nursey (Perry), a Suffolk artist, i. 63, 72</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Oliphant</span> (Mrs.), her History of +English Eighteenth Century Literature, ii. 345</p> +<p>Omar Khayyám, i. 320, 332-334, 343; ii. 26, 27, 325; +transcript by FitzGerald sent to Garcin de Tassy, i. 325; MS. +sent him from Calcutta by Prof. Cowell, 334, 336 edition by +Nicolas; ii. 100; new edition of FitzGerald’s version, 263, +326</p> +<p>Opie, picture by, i. 107, 110</p> +<p>Ouse, the, i. 61, 68, 74, 168, 185</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Paisiello’s</span> Music liked by +Napoleon, ii. 131</p> +<p>Pascal’s Letters, ii. 297</p> +<p>Pasta, ii. 137; in Medea, 138; in Semiramide, 139</p> +<p>Paul Veronese, i. 38, 107</p> +<p>Pembroke, siege of, i. 18</p> +<p>Pepys’ Diary, ii. 234</p> +<p>Piozzi (Mrs.), sale of her house at Streatham, i. 196</p> +<p>Plagiarism, ii. 252</p> +<p>Pliny’s Letters, i. 230</p> +<p>Poetry in relation to morals, i. 37</p> +<p>Pollock (Lady), her article on American Literature, ii. +163</p> +<p>—(W. F.), his marriage, i. 153; his article on British +Novelists in Fraser, ii. 13</p> +<p>Polonius, i. 273</p> +<p>Portraits should be flattered, ii. 30</p> +<p>Poussin’s Orion, i. 221</p> +<p>Poussins (the two), i. 54</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Raffaelle</span> (or Raphael), i. 38, 54; +ii. 151</p> +<p>‘Ranger (The),’ loss of, ii. 290</p> +<p>Regnard, ii. 145</p> +<p>Reliable, ii. 220</p> +<p>Rembrandt, i. 54</p> +<p>Repeal, i. 141, 142</p> +<p>Reynolds (F.), ii. 120, 121</p> +<p>—(Sir Joshua), pictures by, i. 192; ii. 56, 57, 108, +114, 151</p> +<p><!-- page 364--><a name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +364</span>Richardson, his Novels reviewed in the Cornhill, ii. +102; superior to Fielding, 131</p> +<p>Rogers (S.), ii. 144; depreciates Scott, 247</p> +<p>Romney, Life by Hayley, i. 124; his portraits, ii. 41</p> +<p>Roqueplan, ii. 147</p> +<p>Rose (H. J.), Untrodden Spain, ii. 225; Among the Spanish +People, 250</p> +<p>Rossini, ii. 122</p> +<p>Rubens, i. 38, 54, 147; ii. 151</p> +<p>Rubini, ii. 295</p> +<p>Rushworth’s Collections, i. 199</p> +<p>Ruskin (J.), his letter to the Translator of Omar +Khayyám, ii. 153</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Sadi’s</span> Bostán, i. +344</p> +<p>Ste. Beuve, ii. 169, 228; his saying of Madame de +Sévigné, 244, 249</p> +<p>Schlegel (A. W. V.), his History of Literature, i. 92</p> +<p>Schutz (Mrs.), i. 44, 45, 49, 59, 174</p> +<p>Science, poetry of, i. 229</p> +<p>Scott (Sir Walter), The Pirate, ii. 128, 130, 131; +FitzGerald’s love for, 190, 235, 237, 261; depreciated by +the Lake Poets and Carlyle, 194; appreciated by Emerson, +<i>ib.</i>; his Journey to Douglas Dale, <i>ib.</i>; subjects for +pictures from, 235; Guy Mannering, 244, 245, 250; hated by the +Whigs, 247; The Bride of Lammermoor, 261; Kenilworth, 265</p> +<p>Sea Words and Phrases, ii. 116</p> +<p>Selden’s Table Talk, FitzGerald’s notes on, i. +231</p> +<p>Sellar (Professor), his article on Lucretius, ii. 58</p> +<p>Selwyn’s Correspondence, i. 196</p> +<p>Seneca, i. 151, 182</p> +<p>Severn, his letters about Keats, ii. 276</p> +<p>Sévigné (Mad. de), ii. 184, 185, 196, 217, 310, +312; FitzGerald’s Dictionary of the Dramatis Personæ +in her letters, 217, 289; Ste. Beuve’s saying of, 244, 249; +subject for a picture from, 293</p> +<p>Shakespeare, his Sonnets, i. 14; FitzGerald buys the second +and third Folios, 31; Othello, ii. 251, 252</p> +<p>—(the Cambridge), ii. 47</p> +<p>Shelley, reviewed in the Edinburgh, i. 62; Trelawny’s +story of his death, ii. 189; disputed reading in, 250; too +unsubstantial for FitzGerald, 251</p> +<p>Sheridan’s School for Scandal the best comedy in the +language, ii. 159</p> +<p>Siddons (Mrs.), ii. 137, 149</p> +<p>Sizewell Gap, ii. 290</p> +<p>Smith (Horace), i. 97</p> +<p>Sonnets, FitzGerald’s indifference to, i. 84, 87; ii. +212</p> +<p>Sophocles, the Antigone of, i. 186, 188; FitzGerald’s +admiration for, ii. 85; his superiority to Euripides, 86, 87; +translation of the two Œdipuses, 258, 275, 278, 279, 301, +315, 318, 319, 321; the Œdipus Tyrannus played at Harvard, +316; the Ajax at Cambridge, 339</p> +<p>Sophocles and Æschylus compared, i. 240; ii. 49, 259</p> +<p>Southey, Life of Cowper by, i. 40, 42; his Life and Letters, +256</p> +<p><!-- page 365--><a name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +365</span>Southey (Mrs.), Caroline Bowles, i. 97</p> +<p>Spedding (James), at school with FitzGerald, i. 2; living in +Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 43; reviews Carlyle’s French +Revolution in the Edinburgh, 73; mentioned, 76, 114, 115, 138, +164, 167, 177, 207, 228, 239, 272, 276; ii. 38, 152, 174; his +portrait by Laurence, i. 77; his forehead, 77, 78, 83, 116; his +character, 193, 257; ii. 299, 302, 308; Evenings with a Reviewer, +i. 241; ii. 25; at Bramford with the Cowells, i. 262; his article +on Euphranor, 266; death of his niece, 291; his edition of Bacon, +310, 322; ii. 1, 25, 55; forestalled by Hepworth Dixon, 20; paper +on English hexameters, 25; FitzGerald’s regret at his life +wasted on Bacon, 38, 45, 46; should have edited Shakespeare, 38, +48, 135; his pamphlet on Authors and Publishers, 89; article on +Twelfth Night, 103; Carlyle’s letter on him, 175; his +accident, 298; and death, 301, 303, 305, 307; FitzGerald suggests +a collection of his letters, 307, 309; Mrs. Cameron’s +portrait of him, 338</p> +<p>Spenser, ii. 194</p> +<p>Spinoza, i. 204, 205, 209</p> +<p>Sprenger’s Catalogue, i. 342</p> +<p>Spring Rice (Hon. S.), ii. 30, 32</p> +<p>Squirarchy, ii. 19, 20, 22</p> +<p>Squire Letters (the), i. 213, 216-220, 231; ii. 230, 235, 241, +242, 244, 331</p> +<p>Stephen (Leslie), review of Richardson’s Novels in the +Cornhill, ii. 102; his Hours in a Library, 208, 209; on +Crabbe’s want of humour, 341</p> +<p>Sterling (John), i. 43</p> +<p>Stobæus, i. 122, 123</p> +<p>Strawberry Hill, i. 276</p> +<p>Suicide, i. 257</p> +<p>Sumner (Charles), Memoir and Letters of, ii. 243, 247</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Tacitus</span>, i. 60; ii. 164, 165</p> +<p>Talma, ii. 75</p> +<p>Tannhäuser, ii. 29</p> +<p>Tassy (Garcin de), i. 324, 325, 327; his edition of the +Mantic, 325, 330, 342; ii. 100; his paper on Omar, i. 329, 343, +345</p> +<p>Taste the Feminine of Genius, i. 255; ii. 226</p> +<p>Taylor (Jeremy), i. 34, 35, 42, 44</p> +<p>—(Tom), Diogenes and his Lantern, i. 254</p> +<p>Tenby, i. 338</p> +<p>Tennant (R. J.), at Blackheath, i. 43; candidate for a school +at Cambridge, <i>ib.</i></p> +<p>Tennyson (A.), a contemporary of FitzGerald’s at +Cambridge, i. 3; his Mariana, 9; and Lady of Shalott, 10; his new +volume, 17; the Dream of Fair Women, 20; fresh poems, 25; at +Mirehouse and Ambleside with FitzGerald, 33; ii. 305-307, 310; in +London, i. 51, 81; at Leamington, Stratford, and Kenilworth with +FitzGerald, 68; preparing for the press, 93, 113; edition of his +poems, 1842, 115, 119; undergoing the water cure, 151; staying at +Park House, 176, 224; at Carlyle’s, 181; In <!-- page +366--><a name="page366"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +366</span>Memoriam, 187, 250, 263, 273; mentioned, 168, 190, 192, +277; new poem, 194; in the Isle of Wight, 207; The Princess, 237, +246, 249, 250, 253, 254; his portrait by Laurence, 242, 243; ii. +346; his opinion of Thackeray’s Pendennis, i. 244; in +chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 250, 253, 254; his +marriage, 263; at Twickenham, 285; goes to the Isle of Wight, +286, 287; King Arthur, 311; his saying of Hafiz, 320; his bust +not at first admitted into Trinity College Library, ii. 12; his +saying of the Dresden Madonna, 23, 181; FitzGerald regrets that +he left Lincolnshire, 47; his Maud, 60; at Greyshott Hall, +Haslemere, 89; his Death of Lucretius, 89; Locksley Hall, 105; +The Holy Grail, 111; his Gareth and Lynette, 143; his saying of +Crabbe, 152; of Dante and Goethe, 193; of Milton’s similes +and his diction, 193; visits FitzGerald at Woodbridge, 202, 204; +The Northern Farmer, 206; Ode on the Funeral of the Duke of +Wellington, 216; Ballad on Lucknow, 267</p> +<p>Tennyson (Charles), his poems, ii. 259, 264, 294, 297; his +death, 264</p> +<p>—(Frederic), his account of Cicero’s villa, i. +123; urged to publish his poems, 164, 250, 258, 264; their +publication, 285, 289; with FitzGerald at Woodbridge, ii. 55; +lives in a World of Spirits, 65; FitzGerald sends him +Lowell’s Study Windows, 257</p> +<p>Tennyson (Hallam, now Lord), his Song of Brunanburh, ii. +206</p> +<p>—(Septimus), i. 152</p> +<p>Thackeray (Miss), afterwards Mrs. Richmond Ritchie, her story +in the Cornhill, ii. 82; her Old Kensington, 140; meets +FitzGerald at the Royal Academy Exhibition, 143</p> +<p>—(W. M.), at Cambridge with FitzGerald, i. 2; in Paris, +3, 38; mentioned, 17, 30, 77, 116, 125, 158, 257, 311; +illustrated Undine for FitzGerald, 29; his Paris Sketch Book, 73; +his second Funeral of Napoleon, 79; his Irish Sketch Book, 141; +contributes to Punch, 163; goes to the East, 177; at Malta, 181; +writes in Fraser’s Magazine, 193; Journal from Cornhill to +Grand Cairo, 202; Mrs. Perkins’s Ball, 214; Vanity Fair, +238, 244; ii. 53; Pendennis, i. 244, 250, 255; ii. 51-53; his +illness, i. 250; Lectures on the Humourists, 272; Esmond, 275, +276; goes to America, 279; letter of farewell to FitzGerald, 280; +The Newcomes, 288; ii. 50, 51; Lectures on the Georges, i. 317; +edits the Cornhill Magazine, ii. 13; his death, 50, etc.; his +Roundabout Papers, 127; describes Humanity in its depths, 135, +190; his saying of Lamb, 198, 243; his song, ‘Ho, Pretty +Page,’ set to music by FitzGerald, 207, 213</p> +<p><!-- page 367--><a name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +367</span>Thirlwall (Bishop), i. 73; his Letters, ii. 328</p> +<p>Thompson (W. H.), at Cambridge with FitzGerald, i. 2, 79; at +the water cure, 264; his letters, ii. 37; appointed Master of +Trinity, 73, 74; his marriage, 81, 88; his edition of +Plato’s Gorgias, 123-126</p> +<p>Tichborne Trial (the), ii. 134, 135, 159, 170</p> +<p>Ticknor’s Memoirs, ii. 197, 200; his Spanish Literature, +198</p> +<p>Titian, pictures by, i. 107, 108, 141; ii. 151</p> +<p>Tom the Piper, ii. 240</p> +<p>Trench (Mrs.), her Journal, ii. 23, 24, 144</p> +<p>—(R. C.), i. 43; his Sabbation, 54; Study of Words, 274; +his translation of Calderon’s Life’s a Dream, 307; +ii. 287</p> +<p>Trinity College, Cambridge, the Hall, ii. 161; the Chapel, +<i>ib.</i></p> +<p>Trollope (Anthony), his Barchester Towers, ii. 14; Can you +forgive her? 71; He knows he was right, 152; the Eustace +Diamonds, 159</p> +<p>Turner (Dawson), i. 198</p> +<p>Twalmley, The Great, ii. 198, 228</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Vandenhoff</span>, as Macbeth, i. 31; as +Iago, 43; in the Antigone, 188</p> +<p>Vandyke, ii. 151</p> +<p>Vaughan (Henry), Silex Scintillans, i. 46</p> +<p>Venables (G. S.), i. 257</p> +<p>Verdi, ii. 151</p> +<p>Vestiges of Creation, i. 186, 187</p> +<p>Vestris (Madame), ii. 120, 138</p> +<p>Virgil, his Georgics, i. 134; FitzGerald’s love for, ii. +83, 88, 218</p> +<p>Voltaire’s Pucelle, ii. 168; his saying of Habakkuk, +182</p> +<p>Volunteer Rifles, ii. 18, 22</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Walpole</span> (Horace), i. 276; his +Letters, ii. 205; Carlyle’s opinion of him, 206</p> +<p>Warburton (Bishop), Letters quoted, i. 52</p> +<p>—(Eliot), i. 189</p> +<p>Waterford’s (Lady), Babes in the Wood, ii. 18</p> +<p>Waterloo, Battle of, ii. 286, 290</p> +<p>—Gallery, i. 63</p> +<p>Wesley’s Journal, i. 292; ii. 59, 219, 254; story from, +110; Memorials of his Family, 219; Southey’s Life of, +220</p> +<p>Westminster Abbey, ii. 295</p> +<p>Wherstead, i. 28; ii. 231</p> +<p>White (James), i. 201</p> +<p>Wilkie (David), i. 39</p> +<p>Wilkinson (Mrs.), Jane FitzGerald, E. FitzGerald’s +sister, i. 147, 167, 170</p> +<p>—(Rev. J. B.), portrait by Laurence, i. 167, 170</p> +<p>Williams-Wynn (Miss), Memorials, ii. 237</p> +<p>Windham’s Diary, ii. 84</p> +<p>Winsby Fight, i. 155, 160</p> +<p>Woburn Abbey, pictures at, i. 56</p> +<p>Woodberry (G. E.), his article on Crabbe in the Atlantic +Monthly, ii. 281</p> +<p>Wordsworth (Dr. C.), Master of Trinity, ii. 194</p> +<p>—(W.), i. 18; and Tennyson, <!-- page 368--><a +name="page368"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 368</span>36, 37; his +Sonnets, 84, 87, 88; mentioned, ii. 194, 195, 197; +Lowell’s account of him, 199; his opinion of Crabbe, 283, +288</p> +<p>Wotton (Sir H.), quoted, i. 15</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Xenophon</span>, i. 240</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Zincke</span> (Rev. Foster Barbam), ii. +149, 150, 231</p> +<p>Zoolus, account of, by Capt. Allen Gardiner, i. 64</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the +end</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Printed by</i> <span +class="smcap">R. & R. Clark</span>, <span +class="smcap">Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i></p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> See note on Omar Khayyám, +stanza xviii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" +class="footnote">[5]</a> See p. 2.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> Article on ‘British +Novelists’ in Fraser’s Magazine, Jan. 1860.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18" +class="footnote">[18]</a> Major Rolla Rouse of Melton.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> His brother.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23a"></a><a href="#citation23a" +class="footnote">[23a]</a> Dean of Westminster and +afterwards Archbishop of Dublin.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23b"></a><a href="#citation23b" +class="footnote">[23b]</a> Journal of Mrs. Trench, not then +published.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> In 1872 he wrote to me: ‘I +hope that others have remembered and made note of A. T.’s +sayings—which hit the nail on the head. Had I +continued to be with him, I would have risked being called +another Bozzy by the thankless World; and have often looked in +vain for a Note Book I had made of such things.’</p> +<p>And again in 1876: ‘He <i>said</i>, and I dare say, +<i>says</i> things to be remembered: decisive Verdicts; which I +hope some one makes note of: post me memoranda.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> In Fraser’s Magazine for +June 1861, ‘On Translating Homer.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27" +class="footnote">[27]</a> Journal of the Royal Asiatic +Society for 1860, pp 1-17; published in 1861.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29" +class="footnote">[29]</a> [In the book the AT is a symbol +made of a capital A, with a small T inside it with the bar of the +T in the same position as the bar in the A.—D.P.]</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> The Hon Stephen Spring Rice.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34" +class="footnote">[34]</a> Sat. <span +class="smcap">iii</span>. 254.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35a"></a><a href="#citation35a" +class="footnote">[35a]</a> Hermann’s conjecture on +Agam. 819.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35b"></a><a href="#citation35b" +class="footnote">[35b]</a> Sat. <span +class="smcap">vi.</span> 460.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37" +class="footnote">[37]</a> As Greek Professor.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40" +class="footnote">[40]</a> At Ely</p> +<p><a name="footnote47a"></a><a href="#citation47a" +class="footnote">[47a]</a> ? Forty.</p> +<p><a name="footnote47b"></a><a href="#citation47b" +class="footnote">[47b]</a> The Cambridge Shakespeare.</p> +<p><a name="footnote48a"></a><a href="#citation48a" +class="footnote">[48a]</a> Purgatorio, xxiii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote48b"></a><a href="#citation48b" +class="footnote">[48b]</a> Euripides.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50" +class="footnote">[50]</a> Thackeray died 24 Dec. 1863.</p> +<p><a name="footnote55"></a><a href="#citation55" +class="footnote">[55]</a> A copy by Laurence of his +portrait of Thackeray.</p> +<p><a name="footnote56a"></a><a href="#citation56a" +class="footnote">[56a]</a> Gainsborough’s sketch of +Dupont which Laurence copied.</p> +<p><a name="footnote56b"></a><a href="#citation56b" +class="footnote">[56b]</a> Gainsborough, when dying, +whispered to Reynolds, ‘We are all going to heaven, and +Vandyke is of the party.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote58"></a><a href="#citation58" +class="footnote">[58]</a> By Professor Sellar in the Oxford +Essays for 1855: reprinted in his Roman Poets of the Republic, +1863.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59a"></a><a href="#citation59a" +class="footnote">[59a]</a> Late Archdeacon of Suffolk.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59b"></a><a href="#citation59b" +class="footnote">[59b]</a> VI. 556.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61" +class="footnote">[61]</a> Pliny, Hist. Nat. ii. 5. +FitzGerald quotes only a part of the passage in the first scene +of The Mighty Magician.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62a"></a><a href="#citation62a" +class="footnote">[62a]</a> In June 1864.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62b"></a><a href="#citation62b" +class="footnote">[62b]</a> The third was probably the +Agamemnon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63" +class="footnote">[63]</a> So by mistake for Woodbridge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote68"></a><a href="#citation68" +class="footnote">[68]</a> Probably, as I am informed by Mr. +Mowbray Donne, ‘that when Lord Chatham met any Bishops he +bowed so low that you could see the peak of his nose between his +legs.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote69a"></a><a href="#citation69a" +class="footnote">[69a]</a> Sappho, Fr. xlvi. +(Gaisford).</p> +<p><a name="footnote69b"></a><a href="#citation69b" +class="footnote">[69b]</a> P. 308.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74" +class="footnote">[74]</a> Quoted by the Scholiast on +Theocritus, <span class="smcap">v</span>. 65, and to be found in +the editions of the Parœmiographi Græci by Gaisford +and Leutsch.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77" +class="footnote">[77]</a> Francis Duncan, Rector of West +Chelborough.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78a"></a><a href="#citation78a" +class="footnote">[78a]</a> See note, p. 110.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78b"></a><a href="#citation78b" +class="footnote">[78b]</a> Œd. Tyr. 1076.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78c"></a><a href="#citation78c" +class="footnote">[78c]</a> Œd. Col. 607.</p> +<p><a name="footnote86"></a><a href="#citation86" +class="footnote">[86]</a> Sophocles, Ajax 674, 5.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87a"></a><a href="#citation87a" +class="footnote">[87a]</a> Not Jocasta, but Alcmene.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87b"></a><a href="#citation87b" +class="footnote">[87b]</a> Arist. Poet. 13, 10.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88"></a><a href="#citation88" +class="footnote">[88]</a> Her son, the Suffolk Poet, says +that in the decline of her life she ‘observed to a relative +with peculiar emphasis, that “to meet Winter, Old Age, and +Poverty, was like meeting three great giants.”’ +For ‘Sickness’ FitzGerald at first had written +‘Old Age.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote91"></a><a href="#citation91" +class="footnote">[91]</a> Article in the Athenæum of +2nd Feb. 1867 on Donne’s edition of the Correspondence of +George III. and Lord North.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97a"></a><a href="#citation97a" +class="footnote">[97a]</a> Delivered 23rd Oct. 1867.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97b"></a><a href="#citation97b" +class="footnote">[97b]</a> By Emanuel Deutsch.</p> +<p><a name="footnote102"></a><a href="#citation102" +class="footnote">[102]</a> By Leslie Stephen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote104"></a><a href="#citation104" +class="footnote">[104]</a> Who said that the description of +the boat race with which Euphranor ends was one of the most +beautiful pieces of English prose.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105" +class="footnote">[105]</a> Referring to The Two Generals, +Letters and Literary Remains, vol. ii. p. 483.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107" +class="footnote">[107]</a> See p. 105.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109"></a><a href="#citation109" +class="footnote">[109]</a> The Agamemnon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110"></a><a href="#citation110" +class="footnote">[110]</a> FitzGerald frequently referred +to a story from Wesley’s Journal, which he quotes in +Polonius, p. <span class="smcap">lxx</span>. ‘A +gentleman of large fortune, while we were seriously conversing, +ordered a servant to throw some coals on the fire. A puff +of smoke came out. He threw himself back in his chair, and +cried out, “O Mr. Wesley, these are the crosses I meet with +every day!”’</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> The Holy Grail.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116a"></a><a href="#citation116a" +class="footnote">[116a]</a> Printed in the East Anglian +Notes and Queries for 1869 and 1870.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116b"></a><a href="#citation116b" +class="footnote">[116b]</a> The partnership was dissolved +in June 1870.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118a"></a><a href="#citation118a" +class="footnote">[118a]</a> Ten years before, Nov. 2, 1860, +FitzGerald wrote to his old friend, the late Mr. W. E. Crowfoot +of Beccles: ‘I have been reading with interest some French +Memoirs towards the end of the last century: when the French were +a cheerful, ingenious, witty, trifling people; they had not yet +tasted of the Blood of the Revolution, which really seems to me +to have altered their character. The modern French Novels +exhibit Vengeance as a moving Virtue: even toward one another: +can we suppose they think less well of it towards us? In +this respect they are really the most barbarous People of +Europe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118b"></a><a href="#citation118b" +class="footnote">[118b]</a> 29 Oct. 1870.</p> +<p><a name="footnote120"></a><a href="#citation120" +class="footnote">[120]</a> Gilbert’s Palace of +Truth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote122a"></a><a href="#citation122a" +class="footnote">[122a]</a> Edwin Edwards.</p> +<p><a name="footnote122b"></a><a href="#citation122b" +class="footnote">[122b]</a> Cornhill, June 1870. +‘A Clever Forgery,’ by Dr. W. Pole.</p> +<p><a name="footnote127"></a><a href="#citation127" +class="footnote">[127]</a> Thirty Years’ Musical +Recollections, vol. i. p. 162.</p> +<p><a name="footnote128"></a><a href="#citation128" +class="footnote">[128]</a> In 1879 he wrote to Professor +Cowell, ‘O, Sir Walter will fly over all their heads +“come aquila” still!’</p> +<p><a name="footnote133"></a><a href="#citation133" +class="footnote">[133]</a> Not ‘Yaffil’ but +‘yaffingale.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote135a"></a><a href="#citation135a" +class="footnote">[135a]</a> In Hamlet, ii. 2. 337, +‘Whose lungs are tickle o’ the sear.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote135b"></a><a href="#citation135b" +class="footnote">[135b]</a> ‘Read rascal in the +motions of his back,<br /> +And scoundrel in the supple-sliding knee.’—<i>Sea +Dreams</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote136"></a><a href="#citation136" +class="footnote">[136]</a> Thus far written in pencil by +Carlyle himself. The rest of the letter except the +signature and postscript is in Mr. Froude’s hand.</p> +<p><a name="footnote139a"></a><a href="#citation139a" +class="footnote">[139a]</a> This appears to be a +mistake.</p> +<p><a name="footnote139b"></a><a href="#citation139b" +class="footnote">[139b]</a> At Whitsuntide.</p> +<p><a name="footnote139c"></a><a href="#citation139c" +class="footnote">[139c]</a> As Thackeray used to call +Carlyle.</p> +<p><a name="footnote140"></a><a href="#citation140" +class="footnote">[140]</a> Old Kensington.</p> +<p><a name="footnote141a"></a><a href="#citation141a" +class="footnote">[141a]</a> In 1873 he wrote to Miss +Thackeray,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Only yesterday I lighted upon some mention +of your Father in the Letters of that mad man of Genius Morton, +who came to a sudden and terrible end in Paris not long +after. He was a good deal in Coram Street, and no one +admired your Father more, nor made so sure of his ‘<i>doing +something</i>’ at last, so early as 1842. A Letter of +Jan. 22/45 says: “I hear of Thackeray at Rome. Once +there, depend upon it, he will stay there some time. There +is something glutinous in the soil of Rome, that, like the sweet +Dew that lies on the lime-leaf, ensnares the Butterfly +Traveller’s foot.” Which is not so bad, is +it? And again, still in England, and harping on Rome, whose +mere name, he says, “moves the handle of the Pump of Tears +in him” (one of his grotesque fancies), he suddenly +bethinks him (Feb. 4/45). “This is the last day of +Carnival, Thackeray is walking down the Corso with his hands in +his Breeches pockets: stopping to look at some little +Child. At night, millions of Moccoletti, dasht about with +endless Shouts and Laughter, etc.”’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote144"></a><a href="#citation144" +class="footnote">[144]</a> Byron’s verses on +Rogers.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145"></a><a href="#citation145" +class="footnote">[145]</a> In Fraser’s Magazine, May +1870.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146a"></a><a href="#citation146a" +class="footnote">[146a]</a> Inferno, Canto <span +class="smcap">v</span>. 127.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146b"></a><a href="#citation146b" +class="footnote">[146b]</a> F. C. Brooke of Ufford.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146c"></a><a href="#citation146c" +class="footnote">[146c]</a> Probably a frontispiece to Omar +Khayyám which was never used.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147" +class="footnote">[147]</a> Roqueplan, La Vie +Parisienne.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148"></a><a href="#citation148" +class="footnote">[148]</a> Salons Célèbres, +p. 97, ed. 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149a"></a><a href="#citation149a" +class="footnote">[149a]</a> Q. Rev. No. <span +class="smcap">lxvii</span>. p. 216.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149b"></a><a href="#citation149b" +class="footnote">[149b]</a> Wherstead.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150"></a><a href="#citation150" +class="footnote">[150]</a> Euphranor.</p> +<p><a name="footnote153"></a><a href="#citation153" +class="footnote">[153]</a> 31st March, when the letter was +probably finished.</p> +<p><a name="footnote160"></a><a href="#citation160" +class="footnote">[160]</a> Cent. <span +class="smcap">iii.</span> § 238.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161" +class="footnote">[161]</a> In June 1871 he wrote to me, +‘One Improvement I persist in recommending for your Chapel: +but no one will do it. Instead of Lucretius’ line +(which might apply to Shakespeare, etc.) at the foot of +Newton’s Statue, you should put the first words of +Bacon’s Novum Organum, (Homo) ‘Naturæ Minister +et Interpres’: which eminently becomes Newton, as he +stands, with his Prism; and connects him with his great Cambridge +Predecessor, who now (I believe) sits in the Ante-Chapel along +with him.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote162"></a><a href="#citation162" +class="footnote">[162]</a> Agamemnon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163a"></a><a href="#citation163a" +class="footnote">[163a]</a> Written in French, 22 July +1873.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163b"></a><a href="#citation163b" +class="footnote">[163b]</a> The Family of Love, vol. viii +p. 43.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163c"></a><a href="#citation163c" +class="footnote">[163c]</a> Ibid. p. 40.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164"></a><a href="#citation164" +class="footnote">[164]</a> Tacitus, by W. B. Donne, in +Ancient Classics for English Readers, 1873.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165"></a><a href="#citation165" +class="footnote">[165]</a> Ann. <span +class="smcap">xiv.</span> 10.</p> +<p><a name="footnote169"></a><a href="#citation169" +class="footnote">[169]</a> In January 1874, Donne wrote to +Thompson, ‘You probably know that our friend E. F. G. has +been turned out of his long inhabited lodgings by a widow +weighing at least fourteen stone, who is soon to espouse, and +sure to rule over, his landlord, who weighs at most nine +stone—“impar congressus.” “Ordinary +men and Christians” would occupy a new and commodious house +which they have built, and which, in this case, you doubtless +have seen. But the FitzGeralds are not <i>ordinary</i> men, +however <i>Christian</i> they may be, and our friend is now +looking for an alien home for himself, his books, pictures, and +other “rich moveables.”’</p> +<p><a name="footnote170"></a><a href="#citation170" +class="footnote">[170]</a> See Midsummer Night’s +Dream, iii. <span class="smcap">i</span>. 137.</p> +<p><a name="footnote171"></a><a href="#citation171" +class="footnote">[171]</a> A copy of Pickersgill’s +portrait of Crabbe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote172"></a><a href="#citation172" +class="footnote">[172]</a> Dryburgh.</p> +<p><a name="footnote173"></a><a href="#citation173" +class="footnote">[173]</a> Dryburgh.</p> +<p><a name="footnote174"></a><a href="#citation174" +class="footnote">[174]</a> See the Chronicle of the +Drum.</p> +<p><a name="footnote184"></a><a href="#citation184" +class="footnote">[184]</a> Chapter <span +class="smcap">iv</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote187"></a><a href="#citation187" +class="footnote">[187]</a> Tales of the Hall. Book +<span class="smcap">x.</span> (vol. vi. p. 246).</p> +<p><a name="footnote188a"></a><a href="#citation188a" +class="footnote">[188a]</a> Carlyle’s niece, now Mrs. +Alexander Carlyle.</p> +<p><a name="footnote188b"></a><a href="#citation188b" +class="footnote">[188b]</a> To his nephew Tom, meaning that +he should outlive him. Letter of Jeremiah Markland +(Bowyer’s Miscellaneous Tracts, ed. Nichols, p. 521).</p> +<p><a name="footnote189"></a><a href="#citation189" +class="footnote">[189]</a> That his boat was intentionally +run down by a felucca.</p> +<p><a name="footnote193"></a><a href="#citation193" +class="footnote">[193]</a> Among my Books. First +series.</p> +<p><a name="footnote196"></a><a href="#citation196" +class="footnote">[196]</a> June 10, 1876, was a +Saturday. Perhaps the letter was finished on Sunday.</p> +<p><a name="footnote197"></a><a href="#citation197" +class="footnote">[197]</a> In 1851. +Wordsworth’s Letters are in the second volume, pp. +145-173.</p> +<p><a name="footnote198"></a><a href="#citation198" +class="footnote">[198]</a> Boswell’s Johnson, <span +class="smcap">viii.</span> 183.</p> +<p><a name="footnote199"></a><a href="#citation199" +class="footnote">[199]</a> Haydon’s Memoirs, <span +class="smcap">iii.</span> 199.</p> +<p><a name="footnote200"></a><a href="#citation200" +class="footnote">[200]</a> Archdeacon Groome, Rector of +Monk Soham, Suffolk.</p> +<p><a name="footnote202"></a><a href="#citation202" +class="footnote">[202]</a> Suffolk for +‘donkey.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote206"></a><a href="#citation206" +class="footnote">[206]</a> The Song of Brunanburh by Hallam +Tennyson. Contemporary Review, Nov. 1876.</p> +<p><a name="footnote208"></a><a href="#citation208" +class="footnote">[208]</a> In 1863 he wrote to George +Crabbe,—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I am now reading Clarissa Harlowe, for +about the fifth time: I dare say you wouldn’t have patience +to read it once: indeed the first time is the most trying. +It is a very wonderful, and quite original, and unique, Book: but +almost intolerable from its Length and Sentimentality.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote213"></a><a href="#citation213" +class="footnote">[213]</a> See p. 207.</p> +<p><a name="footnote217"></a><a href="#citation217" +class="footnote">[217]</a> In Crabbe’s Borough.</p> +<p><a name="footnote219a"></a><a href="#citation219a" +class="footnote">[219a]</a> <i>Essais</i>, i. 18.</p> +<p><a name="footnote219b"></a><a href="#citation219b" +class="footnote">[219b]</a> Lucr. iv. 76-80.</p> +<p><a name="footnote220a"></a><a href="#citation220a" +class="footnote">[220a]</a> Formerly Professor of Sanskrit +in King’s College, London.</p> +<p><a name="footnote220b"></a><a href="#citation220b" +class="footnote">[220b]</a> On English Adjectives in -able, +with special reference to reliable, 1877.</p> +<p><a name="footnote224"></a><a href="#citation224" +class="footnote">[224]</a> The Hon. J. R. Lowell, formerly +United States Minister at the Courts of Madrid and St. +James’.</p> +<p><a name="footnote231"></a><a href="#citation231" +class="footnote">[231]</a> Chap. xlv.</p> +<p><a name="footnote234"></a><a href="#citation234" +class="footnote">[234]</a> Mélanges et Lettres.</p> +<p><a name="footnote237"></a><a href="#citation237" +class="footnote">[237]</a> Memorials of Charlotte +Williams-Wynn, p. 59.</p> +<p><a name="footnote238"></a><a href="#citation238" +class="footnote">[238]</a> Criticisms, and Elucidations of +Catullus, by H. A. J. Munro.</p> +<p><a name="footnote239"></a><a href="#citation239" +class="footnote">[239]</a> Of Lamb’s Life, mentioned +in the following letter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote240a"></a><a href="#citation240a" +class="footnote">[240a]</a> Book <span +class="smcap">ii</span>. Song 2.</p> +<p><a name="footnote240b"></a><a href="#citation240b" +class="footnote">[240b]</a> Endymion, i. 26, etc.</p> +<p><a name="footnote240c"></a><a href="#citation240c" +class="footnote">[240c]</a> FitzGerald’s memory was +at fault here. The lines are from Tennyson’s +Gardener’s Daughter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote242"></a><a href="#citation242" +class="footnote">[242]</a> Charles Lamb. A calendar +of his life in four pages.</p> +<p><a name="footnote243"></a><a href="#citation243" +class="footnote">[243]</a> That to Bernard Barton about +Mitford’s vases, December 1, 1824.</p> +<p><a name="footnote247"></a><a href="#citation247" +class="footnote">[247]</a> A calendar of Charles +Lamb’s Life.</p> +<p><a name="footnote251"></a><a href="#citation251" +class="footnote">[251]</a> Not in the Essays but in the +Colours of Good and Evil, 4: ‘For as he sayth well, <i>Not +to resolve is to resolve</i>.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote252"></a><a href="#citation252" +class="footnote">[252]</a> See Lamb’s Verses to +Ayrton (Letters, ed. Ainger, <span class="smcap">ii.</span> +2).</p> +<p><a name="footnote253"></a><a href="#citation253" +class="footnote">[253]</a> The Only Darter, A Suffolk +Clergyman’s Reminiscence. Written in the Suffolk +Dialect by Archdeacon Groome under the name of John Dutfen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote254"></a><a href="#citation254" +class="footnote">[254]</a> Wesley’s Journal, 30 May +1786, and 22 May 1788.</p> +<p><a name="footnote255a"></a><a href="#citation255a" +class="footnote">[255a]</a> Edwin Edwards.</p> +<p><a name="footnote255b"></a><a href="#citation255b" +class="footnote">[255b]</a> Lowestoft.</p> +<p><a name="footnote256a"></a><a href="#citation256a" +class="footnote">[256a]</a> These two lines are crossed +out.</p> +<p><a name="footnote256b"></a><a href="#citation256b" +class="footnote">[256b]</a> Tales of the Hall, Book <span +class="smcap">xi.</span> vol. vi., p. 284, quoted from +memory.</p> +<p><a name="footnote259a"></a><a href="#citation259a" +class="footnote">[259a]</a> This was never finished.</p> +<p><a name="footnote259b"></a><a href="#citation259b" +class="footnote">[259b]</a> Lord Carnarvon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote267"></a><a href="#citation267" +class="footnote">[267]</a> Tales of the Hall, Book <span +class="smcap">x.</span></p> +<p><a name="footnote270"></a><a href="#citation270" +class="footnote">[270]</a> A year before, FitzGerald wrote +to Professor Cowell:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I was trying yesterday to recover +Gray’s Elegy, as you had been doing down here at Christmas, +with shut Eyes. But I had to return to the Book: and am far +from perfect yet: though I leave out several Stanzas; reserving +one of the most beautiful which Gray omitted. Plenty of +faults still: but one doats on almost every line, every line +being a Proverb now.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote271"></a><a href="#citation271" +class="footnote">[271]</a> Tales of the Hall, Book <span +class="smcap">xiv</span>. (vol. vii. p. 89).</p> +<p><a name="footnote272"></a><a href="#citation272" +class="footnote">[272]</a> Tales of the Hall, Book <span +class="smcap">xiv</span>. (vol. vii. p. 89).</p> +<p><a name="footnote273"></a><a href="#citation273" +class="footnote">[273]</a> On Foot in Spain, by J. S. +Campion, 1879.</p> +<p><a name="footnote274"></a><a href="#citation274" +class="footnote">[274]</a> From Calderon’s <i>Cada +uno para sí</i>, the seven lines beginning ‘Bien +dijo uno, que su planta’ (Comedias, ed. Keil, iv. 731).</p> +<p><a name="footnote277"></a><a href="#citation277" +class="footnote">[277]</a> Edwards died on Sept. 15. +‘Those two and their little Dunwich in Summer were among my +Pleasures; and will be, I doubt, among my Regrets.’ +So he wrote me at the end of 1877.</p> +<p><a name="footnote280a"></a><a href="#citation280a" +class="footnote">[280a]</a> C. K. of Punch.</p> +<p><a name="footnote280b"></a><a href="#citation280b" +class="footnote">[280b]</a> Now in my possession.</p> +<p><a name="footnote281"></a><a href="#citation281" +class="footnote">[281]</a> In the Atlantic Monthly for May +1880, ‘A Neglected Poet,’ by G. E. Woodberry.</p> +<p><a name="footnote282"></a><a href="#citation282" +class="footnote">[282]</a> Tales of the Hall, Book <span +class="smcap">iv</span>. vol. vi. p. 71.</p> +<p><a name="footnote283"></a><a href="#citation283" +class="footnote">[283]</a> Tales of the Hall, Book <span +class="smcap">iii</span>. vol. vi. p. 61.</p> +<p><a name="footnote285a"></a><a href="#citation285a" +class="footnote">[285a]</a> From the Life of Lord Houghton, +by Mr. Wemyss Reid, ii. 406, and by his kind permission inserted +here.</p> +<p><a name="footnote285b"></a><a href="#citation285b" +class="footnote">[285b]</a> Printed 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote286"></a><a href="#citation286" +class="footnote">[286]</a> FitzGerald was reading Lord +Seaton’s Regiment (the 52nd Light Infantry) at the Battle +of Waterloo, by the Rev. W. Leeke, who as Ensign Leeke carried +the colours of the regiment on the 18th of June.</p> +<p><a name="footnote290"></a><a href="#citation290" +class="footnote">[290]</a> Edwin Edwards.</p> +<p><a name="footnote293"></a><a href="#citation293" +class="footnote">[293]</a> A sheltered path in the field +next his garden, where he walked for hours together.</p> +<p><a name="footnote302"></a><a href="#citation302" +class="footnote">[302]</a> Spedding died on March 9.</p> +<p><a name="footnote303"></a><a href="#citation303" +class="footnote">[303]</a> The death of Spedding.</p> +<p><a name="footnote308a"></a><a href="#citation308a" +class="footnote">[308a]</a> Now (1893) the Dowager Lady +Tennyson.</p> +<p><a name="footnote308b"></a><a href="#citation308b" +class="footnote">[308b]</a> See p. 219.</p> +<p><a name="footnote309"></a><a href="#citation309" +class="footnote">[309]</a> Printed in the Life of +Archdeacon Allen, by Prebendary Grier, pp. 35-37.</p> +<p><a name="footnote311"></a><a href="#citation311" +class="footnote">[311]</a> In Macmillan’s Magazine +for April 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote313"></a><a href="#citation313" +class="footnote">[313]</a> Mrs. Kemble was at +Leamington.</p> +<p><a name="footnote317"></a><a href="#citation317" +class="footnote">[317]</a> Euphranor.</p> +<p><a name="footnote322"></a><a href="#citation322" +class="footnote">[322]</a> Nearly two years before, 21st +March 1880, Fitzgerald wrote to Professor Cowell: ‘My dear +Donne (who also was one object of my going) seemed to me feebler +in Body and Mind than when I saw him in October: I need not say, +the same Gentleman. Mrs. Kemble says that he, more than any +one she has known, is the man to do what Boccaccio’s Hero +of the Falcon did.’ This was said, Mrs. Kemble +informs me, by her sister Mrs. Sartoris.</p> +<p><a name="footnote323"></a><a href="#citation323" +class="footnote">[323]</a> Keene recommended FitzGerald to +read Roger North’s Memoir of Music. ‘You will +see in North,’ he says, ‘that Old Rowley was a bit of +a musician and sang “a plump Bass.” Can’t +you hear him?’ His question to me was about the +meaning of the word ‘fastously,’ which is not a +musical term, but described the conduct of an Italian violinist, +Nicolai Matteis, who gave himself airs, ‘and behaved +fastously’ or haughtily. Barrow uses both +‘fastuous’ and ‘fastuously.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote324a"></a><a href="#citation324a" +class="footnote">[324a]</a> The Whole Body of Cookery +Dissected, published in 1682.</p> +<p><a name="footnote324b"></a><a href="#citation324b" +class="footnote">[324b]</a> A volume of 17th century +pamphlets, containing among others Howell’s Dodona’s +Grove, given me by Archdeacon Groome.</p> +<p><a name="footnote326"></a><a href="#citation326" +class="footnote">[326]</a> Edward Marlborough +FitzGerald.</p> +<p><a name="footnote327"></a><a href="#citation327" +class="footnote">[327]</a> Euphranor, referred to in the +following letters.</p> +<p><a name="footnote328"></a><a href="#citation328" +class="footnote">[328]</a> Now (1893) Lord Tennyson.</p> +<p><a name="footnote330a"></a><a href="#citation330a" +class="footnote">[330a]</a> Virgil’s Garden, printed +in Temple Bar for April, 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote330b"></a><a href="#citation330b" +class="footnote">[330b]</a> Longfellow died 26th March, and +Emerson 27th April, 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote337"></a><a href="#citation337" +class="footnote">[337]</a> 20 June, 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote342"></a><a href="#citation342" +class="footnote">[342]</a> A newspaper cutting: +‘ALDEBURGH. <span class="smcap">The +Storm</span>. On Tuesday evening the tide ran over the +Promenade, in many places the river and sea meeting. The +cattle are all sent inland, and all the houses at Slaughden are +evacuated.’</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 20539-h.htm or 20539-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/5/3/20539 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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