rse at moving any where, a common Fate as we grow older.

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.

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 _our_ 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 _called Aldborough_: _spelt_ Aldeburgh: and is the
Birth place of the Poet Crabbe, who also has _Daguerrotyped_ 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?

Still as I gaze upon the Sea I find
Its waves an Image of my restless mind:
_Here_ Thought on Thought: _there_ Wave on Wave succeeds,
Their Produce--idle Thought and idle Weeds!

Adieu: please to remember me to your Husband: and believe me yours ever
very sincerely,

EDWARD FITZGERALD.

_To George Crabbe_.

MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE,
_Decr._ 28/60.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

. . . 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 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