ry 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.

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.

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 'Meeserable
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, like the Lammermuir, which
does not look very small beside Peter Bell and Co.

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.

Well then: abo