. . . I expect to be here about a week, and I mean to give a day to
looking over the field of Edgehill, on the top of which, I have
ascertained, there is a very delightful pot-house, commanding a very
extensive view. Don't you wish to sit at ease in such a high tower, with
a pint of porter at your side, and to see beneath you the ground that was
galloped over by Rupert and Cromwell two hundred years ago, in one of the
richest districts of England, and on one of the finest days in October,
for such my day is to be?
In the meanwhile I cast regretful glances of memory back to my garden at
Boulge, which I want to see dug up and replanted. I have bought anemone
roots which in the Spring shall blow Tyrian dyes, and Irises of a newer
and more brilliant prism than Noah saw in the clouds. I have bought a
picture of my poor quarrelsome friend Moore, just to help him; for I
don't know what to do with his picture.
_To F. Tennyson_.
BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, _Oct_. 10/44.