Letters of Edward FitzGerald | Page 4

both have
been doing by turns all Yesterday and To day. I was cursing all this as I
was shivering here by myself last Night: and in the Morning I hear of
three Wrecks off the Sands, and indeed meet five shipwreckt Men with

a Troop of Sailors as I walk out before Breakfast. Oh Dear!
Please remember me to your 'Gude Man' and believe me yours truly,
E. F. G.
Pray do excuse all this Blotting: my Paper won't dry To day.
To W. H. Thompson.
10 MARINE TERRACE, LOWESTOFT. Nov. 27, 1859.
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
After a Fortnight's Visit to my Sister's (where I caught Cold which flew
at once to my Ears, and there hangs) I returned hither, as the nearest
Place to go to, and here shall be till Christmas at all Events. I wish to
avoid London this winter: and indeed seem almost to have done with it,
except for a Day's Business or Sightseeing every now and then. Often
should I like to roam about old Cambridge, and hear St. Mary's Chimes
at Midnight--but--but! This Place of course is dull enough: but here's
the Old Sea (a dirty Dutch one, to be sure) and Sands, and Sailors, a
very fine Race of Men, far superior to those in Regent Street. Also the
Dutchmen (an ugly set whom I can't help liking for old Neighbours)
come over in their broad Bottoms and take in Water at a Creek along
the Shore. But I believe the East winds get very fierce after Christmas,
when the Sea has cooled down. You won't come here, to be sure: or I
should be very glad to smoke a Cigar, and have a Chat: and would take
care to have a Fire in your Bedroom this time: a Negligence I was very
sorry for in London.
I read, or was told, they wouldn't let old Alfred's Bust into your Trinity.
They are right, I think, to let no one in there (as it should be in
Westminster Abbey) till a Hundred Years are past; when, after too
much Admiration (perhaps) and then a Reaction of undue Dis-esteem,
Men have settled into some steady Opinion on the subject: supposing
always that the Hero survives so long, which of itself goes so far to
decide the Question. No doubt A. T. will do that.

To W. F. Pollock.
10 MARINE TERRACE, LOWESTOFT. Febr. 23/60.
MY DEAR POLLOCK,
'Me voila ici' still! having weathered it out so long. No bad Place, I
assure you, though you who are accustomed to Pall Mall, Clubs, etc.,
wouldn't like it. Mudie finds one out easily: and the London Library too:
and altogether I can't complain of not getting such drowsy Books as I
want. Hakluyt lasted a long while: then came Captain Cook, whom I
hadn't read since I was a Boy, and whom I was very glad to see again.
But he soon evaporates in his large Type Quartos. I can hardly manage
Emerson Tennent's Ceylon: a very dry Catalogue Raisonnee of the
Place. A little Essay of De Quincey's gave me a better Idea of it (as I
suppose) in some twenty or thirty pages. Anyhow, I prefer Lowestoft,
considering the Snakes, Sand-leaches, Mosquitos, etc. I suppose
Russell's Indian Diary is over-coloured: but I feel sure it's true in the
Main: and he has the Art to make one feel in the thick of it; quite
enough in the Thick, however. Sir C. Napier came here to try and get
the Beachmen to enlist in the Naval Reserve. Not one would go: they
won't give up their Independence: and so really half starve here during
Winter. Then Spring comes and they go and catch the Herrings which,
if left alone, would multiply by Millions by Autumn: and so kill their
Golden Goose. They are a strange set of Fellows. I think a Law ought
to be made against their Spring Fishing: more important, for their own
sakes, than Game Laws.
I laid out half a crown on your Fraser {13}: and liked much of it very
much: especially the Beginning about the Advantage the Novelist has
over the Play-writer. A little too much always about Miss Austen,
whom yet I think quite capital in a Circle I have found quite
unendurable to walk in. Thackeray's first Number was famous, I
thought: his own little Roundabout Paper so pleasant: but the Second
Number, I say, lets the Cockney in already: about Hogarth: Lewes is
vulgar: and I don't think one can care much for Thackeray's Novel. He
is always talking so of himself, too. I have been very glad to find I
could take to a Novel again, in Trollope's Barchester Towers, etc.: not

perfect, like Miss Austen: but then so much wider Scope: and perfect
enough to