Circumstances brought me into intimate association with Mr. Noble, a most
excellent and useful sculptor. He was employed in producing a recumbent
statue of Lord Ripon. This memorial figure was placed in Nocton church,
the more welcome there since the structure, a design of Gilbert Scott,
was due to Lady Ripon’s bounty. He also made a fine bust of the deceased
earl, all of which work was done by order of his devoted countess, whose
name and the date of whose death are inscribed on the tomb beneath his.
During the lifetime of the good Lady Ripon, I spent several weeks from
year to year during the summer at Nocton Hall, by her wish, having some
of my family with me, and, on one occasion, the boy Lord Goderich. During
these visits I looked well over the estate and reported my observations,
or any suggestions for changes, with Lord de Grey’s approval.
The climate of the eastern country, from my experience in East Anglia,
and later in Lincolnshire, I pronounce the best in England during the
warm season, when the air is well “cooked” by the sun. I once wrote to
Lady Ripon from Nocton, that it was as if cod-liver oil was floating in
the air. But I must say that in the early months of the year, when the
east wind is “raw,” the climate is not fit for a pet dog.
This very summer of ’91, when rain has turned all our houses in the south
and west into arks, and ourselves into Noahs, I have said to friends,
some going to the Isle of Wight, others still farther into the wet lands
towards the Atlantic, “Go eastward as far as you can away from the rain;
go to Aldeburgh; go to Cromer; go to Lowestoft; go to Mablesthorpe, where
wind and rain part company before reaching so far.” They abided by my
advice; and while the millions on the west side were soaked through,
those on the east had not a wet day once a week, and, departing in sickly
condition, came back in health too good to last!
Ask the people on the west and on the east of Scotland what sort of
weather they have had in any summer. When I was in Perthshire for six
weeks, it rained pretty well every day; and as I left by the train I saw
the September harvest between Crieff and Perth cut and afloat on the
meadows.
A fearful loss of oats! I had a friend that very same season living on
the coast of Fifeshire. It was a lady. She informed me that all was
sunshine, scarce a drop of rain, during the period I speak of.
Why should Egypt be said to monopolize all the dry weather!
“Madeline and other Poems” appeared not long after Rossetti’s volume.
I kept myself clear of all models and other modes of thought—a fact
recognized by every writer that reviewed my book. Rossetti was the
first to say this, which he did in the Academy, the generosity of which
proceeding cannot be too strongly put forward when one recollects that
his own poems were in the hands of the critics at the same time. He read
the poem before publication, and from what he wrote to me I learned that
the metre itself in “Madeline” had a great charm for him.
I became known to Theodore Watts about the time “Madeline” came out.
He was then comparatively young, and had formed for himself, in the
country, certain poetic tenets which twenty years of experience have
since greatly enlarged. He did not then think that “Madeline” had the
elements of success within it. In intellect, in isolated quotable
passages, according to his view, it abounded; for the rest it came
strange to him.
Twenty years of experience and change of feeling affects us all; we
become _blasé_ for better or worse; authors in whom we revelled go stale;
others, that we found it hard to bite at, seem to yield a light that was
but a spark before. The change is in ourselves.
Not many months ago, after the publication of “The New Day,” Watts was
with me, and said, “I have been reading ‘Madeline’ again; for sheer
originality, both of conception and of treatment, I consider that it
stands alone.”
I do not intend to submit this sentence to him for further consideration;
it was once in his mouth, and thence it issued!