t
me hear how you and yours are: and don't wait, as you usually do, for
some inundation of the Arno to set your pen agoing. Write ever so
shortly and whatever-about-ly. I have no news to tell you of Friends. I
saw old Spedding in London; only doubly calm after the death of a Niece
he dearly loved and whose death-bed at Hastings he had just been waiting
upon. Harry {291} Lushington wrote a martial Ode on seeing the Guards
march over Waterloo Bridge towards the East: I did not see it, but it was
much admired and handed about, I believe. And now my paper is out: and I
am going through the rain (it is said to rain very much here) to my
Sister's. So Good Bye, and write to me, as I beg you, in reply to this
long if not very interesting letter.

_To John Allen_.

MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE.
_October_ 8/54.

MY DEAR ALLEN,

'What cheer?' This is what we nautical Men shout to one another as we
pass in our Ships. The Answer is generally only an Echo; but you will
have to tell me something more. I find it rather disgusting to set you
an example by telling of my Doings; for it is always the same thing over
and over again. I doubt this will put an End to even Letters at last: I
mean, on my part. You have others beside yourself to tell of; you go
abroad, too; deliver charges, etc.

Well, however, I had better say that I have been for the last four months
going about in my little Ship as in former years, and now am about to lay
up her, and myself, for the Winter. The only Friend I hear from is
Donne, who volunteers a Letter unprovoked sometimes. Old Spedding gives
an unwilling Reply about thrice in two years. You speak when spoken to;
so does Thompson, in general: I shall soon ask of him what he has been
doing this Summer.

I have been reading in my Boat--Virgil, Juvenal, and Wesley's Journal. Do
you know the last? one of the most interesting Books, I think, in the
Language. It is curious to think of his Diary extending over nearly the
same time as Walpole's Letters, which, you know, are a sort of Diary.
What two different Lives, Pursuits, and Topics! The other day I was
sitting in a Garden at Lowestoft in which Wesley had preached his first
Sermon there: the Wall he set his Back against yet standing. About 1790
{292a} Crabbe, the Poet, went to hear him; he was helped into the Pulpit
by two Deacons, and quoted--

'By the Women oft I'm told,
Poor Anacreon, thou grow'st old, etc.' {292b}

So I have heard