. . . We have had much rain which has hindered the sporting part of our
company: but has not made much difference to me. One or two sunshiny
days have made me say within myself, 'how felicitously and at once would
Laurence hit off an outline in this clear atmosphere.' For this fresh
sunlight is not a mere dead medium of light, but is so much vital
champagne both to sitter and to artist. London will become worse as it
becomes bigger, which it does every hour.
I don't see much prospect of my going to Cumberland this winter: though I
should like to go snipe-shooting with that literary shot James Spedding.
Do you mean to try and go up Skiddaw? You will get out upon it from your
bedroom window: so I advise you to begin before you go down to breakfast.
There is a mountain called Dod, which has felt me upon its summit. It is
not one of the highest in that range. Remember me to Grisedale Pike; a
very well-bred mountain. If you paint--put him not only in a good light,
but to leeward of you in a strong current of air. . . .
Farewell for the present.
_To F. Tennyson_.
LONDON, _Jan_. 16, 1841.