TO MR. BLACKWOOD.
WINDSOR,
2nd February.
...My idea in coupling Southey and Keats was — their absolute unsuitability. They are the very opposite poles, and as one has a sort of artificial connection with the Byronic school, so has the other with the Lake school; so that I thought I might treat them together as hangers-on of these two real fountains of poetry. I am very much afraid that you and I will come to blows about Byron. I did not read him young as most people do, and accordingly have never worshipped him, and he is to me a gigantic sham in everything but poetry. Of course I shall keep clear of the mud in which he is embedded, and especially of the last mud thrown by Mrs. Stowe, and will endeavour to do him poetically all the justice possible. I should like to take in Campbell. He and Moore might come very well together, but Moore is nothing in my opinion, and never would have been anything but for the lovely music he is identified with. Crabbe, too, I should like to take up. I enclose a little note of the poets done and proposed. Please make what corrections you like.
When you have time, pray look at my story, and tell me if you like the beginning, for “my barmy noddle’s working prime,” and if you don’t like that I want to write to you about something else.
Windsor,
28th February.
...I did not go to London yesterday....We had grand doings here, however. There is a curious sort of a man called Richardson Gardiner, who has contested the borough more than once on the Conservative side (don’t be angry, he was a red-hot Radical first, but found, I suppose, that that did not answer), and whose efforts to keep himself before the public are very funny. He heard, it is said, a report, which was false, that the member for Windsor meant to roast an ox whole on the Thanksgiving Day, and he accordingly sent orders to roast three oxen, which was done yesterday in presence of a delighted crowd. There was a large bonfire in addition, and fireworks and illuminations, in which delights Jack shared with my boys. I must wind up this long history, however, by telling you a capital remark of a poor woman who is to benefit by the beef. In answer to some suggestion that such a benefactor of the people should be returned at next election— “No, no,” said this philosopher; “let’s keep him out; if he were elected he would be just as useless as Roger [our member], and we’d get nothing out of him!”
Windsor,
30th March.
As you have been my very kind friend always, let me tell you once more exactly what my position is. My money is almost always spent before I get it, or received only just in time for pressing necessities, so that the pleasant sensation of feeling even three months clear before me is one which very rarely occurs to me. I have four people, an entire family, three of them requiring education, absolutely on my hands to provide for. My only chance of ever escaping from this burden is to train and push on my nephew into a position in which he can take this weight upon himself. This process of course involves a great additional expense, and I cannot let my own boys suffer for what I am obliged to do for him. For the next three years, during which I shall have all three at work, I can look forward to nothing but a fight a outrance for money: however, it is to be honestly come by. I don’t care how much or how hard I work, and fortunately my sanguine temperament and excellent health save me from the gnawing of anxiety which would kill many people. At the end of these three years Frank, I hope, will have a capital position, and be able to relieve me to a considerable extent, and Tiddy will have reached the age to which scholarships are possible, and according to all human probability will be able to do much of what remains to his education for himself. Now, perhaps, it would be wiser, with this tremendous struggle before me, to retire from my pretty house and pleasant surroundings and go to some cheap village where I could live at less expense. I hold myself ready to do this should the necessity absolutely arise; but you will easily understand that while still in the full tide of middle life I shrink from such a sacrifice, and would rather work to the utmost of my powers than withdraw from all that makes existence agreeable: at the same time, I hold myself ready to make the sacrifice should it prove absolutely necessary. My life is insured, and I trust I will always, as long as I live, be able to do something small or great, so that I think I am justified, as long as strength and work hold out, to pursue the career I have marked out for myself. I never can save money, but if I can rear three men who may be good for something in the world, I shall not have lived for nothing. Twelve years ago I began my solitary life a thousand pounds in debt. I don’t think in all my life since I began my independent career that I have ever got five pounds I did not work for. I tell you all this not to complain but to explain. Pardon me for it. I shall not do it again; but I hope it will make you understand better the principles of my life. What I am doing is not done without much and serious thought, nor am I insensible to the fact, perhaps the hardest of all, that I must resign myself to do second-class work all my life from lack of time to do myself full justice. I make this sacrifice, however, with my eyes open, not deceiving myself on the subject. One of my boys, perhaps, may take up my imperfection and make it into something worthy to live.
Pardon me for this exposition of self. I don’t ask for any pity, for I am probably as happy as most people with it all, but I should like to think you understood me.
I am very glad to hear you are thinking of going abroad, and applaud Puck immensely for her diplomacy. You will enjoy everything twice as much for the sight of her enjoyment. I hope I shall see you on your way through London.
Some letters written at this time are amusing as a picture of the troubles sometimes befalling biographers. When Madame de Montalembert departed after her second visit, during which she had been most urgent about certain alterations, she left her hostess absolutely exhausted, and almost ready to yield anything.
To Mr. William Blackwood.
Windsor,
18th June.
Thanks for your letter: it will answer the purpose admirably. I send off by post to-day 100 pages for press, which will clinch the matter. But alas, pity me! the Countess has just written to say that she is coming down here again to-day to read over the second volume with me. I hope I shall be alive at the end of the reading, but what with the hot weather, and a most eloquent and energetic member of the noble house of De Mérode, I don’t know what is to become of me..,.
What with my flitting and this invasion of the — not Goths, but delightfullest and troublesomest Gauls, I am rather hardly called upon just now.
Windsor,
17th July.
...Heaven be praised, indeed, that this terrible book is now out of hands! If the public are as much pleased as his friends are, we shall have nothing to complain of.
Windsor,
22nd October.
...By the way, I have never had your last word about the Continental Classics. Pray give it me. I should not wish to begin any such series without at least six unquestionable names secured, which should take away all likelihood of loss.
I have begun, partly to amuse myself, and on a sudden impulse, a new series of the ‘Chronicles of Carlingford’ to be called ‘Phoebe Junior,’ and to embody the history of the highly intellectual and much-advanced family of the late Miss Phoebe Tozer. I don’t know whether you will have any interest in this or not, but you have a right to be told of it at least.