. . . After I left Richmond, whence I last wrote to you, I went to
Bedford, where I was for five weeks: then returned to spend Christmas at
Richmond: and now dawdle here hoping to get some accursed lawyers to
raise me some money on what remains of my reversion. This they _can_ do,
and _will_ do, in time: but, as usual, find it their interest to delay as
much as possible.
I found A. Tennyson in chambers at Lincoln's Inn: and recreated myself
with a sight of his fine old mug, and got out of him all his dear old
stories, and many new ones. He is re-publishing his Poems, the Princess
with songs interposed. I cannot say I thought them like the old vintage
of his earlier days, though perhaps better than other people's. But,
even to you, such opinions appear blasphemies. A. T. is now gone on a
visit into Leicestershire: and I miss him greatly. Carlyle I have not
seen; but I read an excellent bit of his in the Examiner, about Ireland.
Thackeray is well again, except not quite strong yet. Spedding is not
yet returned: and I doubt will not return before I have left London.
I have been but to one play; to see the Hypocrite, and Tom Taylor's
burlesque {254a} at the Strand Theatre. It was dreadfully cold in the
pit: and I thought dull. Farren almost unintelligible: Mrs. Glover good
in a disagreeable part. {254b} Diogenes has very good Aristophanic hits
in it, as perhaps you know: but its action was rather slow, I thought:
and I was so cold I could not sit it half through.
_To F. Tennyson_.
[Written from Bramford? E. F. G. was staying at this time with the
Cowells.]
Direct to BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE.
_March_ 7/50.