that I am well content to make shine at my own expense.

Don't suppose that this or any other ideal day with him effaces my days
with you. Indeed, my dear Frederic, you also mark many times and many
places in which I have been with you. Gravesend and its [Greek text]
shrimps cannot be forgotten. You say I shall never go to see you at
Florence. I have said to you before and I now repeat it, that if ever I
go abroad it shall be to see you and my Godchild. I really cannot say if
I should not have gone this winter (as I hinted in my last) in case you
had answered my letter. But I really did not know if you had not left
Florence; and a fortnight ago I thought to myself I would write to
Horatio at Cheltenham and ask him for news of you. As to Alfred, I have
heard of his marriage, etc., from Spedding, who also saw and was much
pleased with her indeed. But you know Alfred himself never writes, nor
indeed cares a halfpenny about one, though he is very well satisfied to
see one when one falls in his way. You will think I have a spite against
him for some neglect, when I say this, and say besides that I cannot care
for his In Memoriam. Not so, if I know myself: I always thought the same
of him, and was just as well satisfied with it as now. His poem I never
did greatly affect: nor can I learn to do so: it is full of finest
things, but it is monotonous, and has that air of being evolved by a
Poetical Machine of the highest order. So it seems to be with him now,
at least to me, the Impetus, the Lyrical oestrus, is gone. . . It is the
cursed inactivity (very pleasant to me who am no Hero) of this 19th
century which has spoiled Alfred, I mean spoiled him for the great work
he ought now to be entering upon; the lovely and noble things he has done
must remain. It is dangerous work this prophesying about great Men. . . .
I beg you very much to send me your poems, the very first opportunity;
as I want them very much. Nobody doubts that you ought to make a volume
for Moxon. Send your poems to Spedding to advise on. No doubt Alfred
would be best adviser of all: but then people would be stupid, and say
that he had done all that was good in the Book--(wait till I take my tea,
which has been lying on the table these ten minutes)--Now, animated by
some very inferior Souchong from the village shop, I continue my letter,
having reflected during my repast that I have seen two College men you
remember since I last wrote, Thompson and