. . . I have now been home about three weeks, and, as you say, one sees
indications of lovely spring about. I have read but very little of late;
indeed my eyes have not been in superfine order. I caught a glimpse of
the second volume of Southey's Life and Letters; interesting enough. I
have also bought Emerson's 'Representative Men,' a shilling book of
Bohn's: with very good scattered thoughts in it: but scarcely leaving any
large impression with one, or establishing a theory. So at least it has
seemed to me: but I have not read very carefully. I have also bought a
little posthumous volume of Ebenezer Elliott: which is sure to have fine
things in it.
I believe I love poetry almost as much as ever: but then I have been
suffered to doze all these years in the enjoyment of old childish habits
and sympathies, without being called on to more active and serious duties
of life. I have not put away childish things, though a man. But, at the
same time, this visionary inactivity is better than the mischievous
activity of so many I see about me; not better than the useful and
virtuous activity of a few others: John Allen among the number.
_To F. Tennyson_.
PORTLAND COFFEE HOUSE, LONDON.
_April_ 17/50.