I often think of you: often wish to write to you--often intend to do
so--determine to do so--but perhaps should not do so for a long time, but
that this sheet of thin paper happens to come under my fingers this 19th
of June 1849. You must not believe however that it is only chance that
puts me up to this exertion; I really should have written before but that
the reports we read of Italian and Florentine troubles put me in doubt
first whether you are still at Florence to receive my letter: and
secondly whether, if you be there, it would ever reach your hands. But I
will brace myself up even to that great act of Friendship, to write a
long letter with all probability of its miscarrying. Only look here; if
it ever does reach you, you must really write to me directly: to let me
know how you and yours are, for I am sincerely anxious to know this. I
saw great reports in the paper too some months back of Prince Albert
going to open Great Grimsby Docks. Were not such Docks to be made on
your land? and were you not to be a rich man if they were made? And have
you easily consented to forego being paid in money, and to accept in lieu
thereof a certain quantity of wholly valueless shares in said Docks,
which will lead you into expense, instead of enriching you? This is what
I suppose will be the case. For though you have a microscopic eye for
human character, you are to be diddled by any knave, or set of knaves, as
you well know.
Of my own affairs I have nothing agreeable to tell. . . . When I met you
in London, I was raising money for myself on my reversionary property:
and so I am still: and of course the lawyers continue to do so in the
most expensive way; a slow torture of the purse. But do not suppose I
want money: I get it, at a good price: nor do I fret myself about the
price: there will be quite enough (if public securities hold) for my life
under any dispensation the lawyers can inflict. As I grow older I want
less. I have not bought a book or a picture this year: have not been to
a concert, opera, or play: and, what is more, I don't care to go. Not
but if I meet you in London again I shall break out into shilling
concerts, etc., and shall be glad of the opportunity.
After you left London, I remained there nearly to the end of December;
saw a good deal of Alfred, etc. Since then I have been down here except
a fortnight's stay in London, from which I have just returned. I heard
Alfred had been seen flying through town to the Lushingtons: but I did
not see him. He is said to be still busy about that accursed Princess.
By the by, beg, borrow, steal, or buy Keats' Letters and Poems; most
wonderful bits of Poems, written off hand at a sitting, most of them: I
only wonder that they do not make a noise in the world. By the by again,
it is quite necessary _your_ poems should be printed; which Moxon, I am
sure, would do gladly. Except this book of Keats, we have had _no_
poetry lately, I believe; luckily, the ---, ---, ---, etc., are getting
older and past the age of conceiving--_wind_. Send your poems over to
Alfred to sort and arrange for you: he will do it: and you and he are the
only men alive whose poems I want to see in print. By the by, thirdly
and lastly, and in total contradiction to the last sentence, I am now
helping to edit some letters and poems of--Bernard Barton! Yes: the poor
fellow died suddenly of heart disease; leaving his daughter, a noble
woman, almost unprovided for: and we are getting up this volume by
subscription. If you were in England _you_ must subscribe: but as you
are not, you need only give us a share in the Great Grimsby Dock instead.
Now there are some more things I could tell you, but you see where my pen
has honestly got to in the paper. I remember you did not desire to hear
about my garden, which is now gorgeous with large red poppies, and lilac
irises--satisfactory colouring: and the trees murmur a continuous soft
_chorus to the solo which my soul discourses within_. If that be not
Poetry, I should like to know what is? and with it I may as well
conclude. I think I shall send this letter to your family at Cheltenham
to be forwarded to you:--they may possibly have later intelligence of you
than I have. Pray write to me if you get this; indeed you _must_; and
never come to England without letting me know of it.
_To George Crabbe_. {247}
TERRACE HOUSE, RICHMOND,
_October_ 22/49.