Here we depth of near a hundred-and-fifty feet. lighted our last cigars, and smoked, to while away the time till the tide would recede to a sufficient level to permit us to explore the cave. The waves roared beneath us, and twice we were splashed with the spray. . . . Would thou couldst behold the south coast of Jersey in a S. W. gale! Then truly would thy pencil produce works that would rival the masterpieces of Salvator, and thy pen descriptive narratives that would stand a fair comparison with the idyllic letters of 'Demogorgon!'1. . . "And now, my friend, as I am very tired, and my eyes are scarcely able to keep open, I must [desist] for the present. As we were coming down to St. Aubin's, we saw a dog jumping up on a gentleman of tragic countenance, who was quite screwed. Quoth the gentleman to the dogstretching out his arm in the most dramatic manner, and looking desperately heroic (N. B.-The dog was about six inches in height, and stood by trembling, and appearing to understand every word)-Now, look here: if you come near me again, by the living God, I'll knock your head off dean!' The dog turned tail, and took to his heels, as if he had seen the ghost of a dog he had quarrelled with in the flesh.-Yours, &c., E. J. A.” LETTER XXIX. (To G. B.)-"Jersey, December 22, 1861 . . . . This is to wish you a merry 1A nom de guerre, under which he wrote for a time.—ED. X Christmas and a happy New Year, together with all the blisses conveyed in the concluding lines of our Philippic friend's 'Ode to G. B.,' and as many more as you like. . . . Now, my fine friend, I expect definite answers to all the following questions :-Have you got your appointment yet? Have you proposed on the strength of it? Have you been accepted, or dost look alone for consolation to the Devil and your razors? What sort of fellow are you now at all? Dost sport the terrific awe-inspiring moustache, or hast subsided into the sleek sanctimonious whisker? Dost wax thin and spectre-pale' on study; or hast swelled into aldermanic proportions on the prospect of a sedate settlement in life, consolidated by the matrimonial alliance which thou hast contemplated from thy youth up? Art very much grieved at the death of H. R. H the Prince Consort, and dost storm at the insolence of Wilkes and Fairfax; or dost calmly contemplate all other sublunary concerns as of infinitely [little] importance when brought into comparison with Dr. S's [examination] papers?-All these questions I expect you will answer in the order in which I have asked them, as, otherwise, you will not make sufficiently ample amends for your protracted silence. "Here everything is as gloomy as Styx since the news of Prince Albert's death reached the Island. To-day, the day of the funeral (wouldn't you give anything to have been at Windsor to-day?), all the shops were shut up; the death-bells knolled from all the church-towers of all the parishes of the little Isle; all the innumerable flags were struck, and floated drowsily and sullenly at halfmast; and sixty guns boomed from the grey old Fort, at intervals of four minutes, during the time at which the funeral was supposed to have been going on. Meantime, the mourners go about the streets in crowds. The whole population of Jersey turns out in deepest black. Even ****** and I had to yield, sorely against our will, to the irresistible current, and invest a portion of our literary reservefund on gloves and hat-bands! . . . We have conceived a strong [distaste] of late for Tennyson's style; and our present estimate of his poetical abilities is marvellously lower than it was in the days when we used to shout 'O-o-o-o-ri-a-a-a-a-na !' through Grafton-Street, with clenched fists, and. appalling strides! We now deify Wordsworth, as the man of most comprehensive soul' (as Dryden says of Shakespeare), and the purest writer of English, among the poets of the nineteenth century. We read portions of the Excursion every night before bedtime, and find the perusal a thousandfold more refreshing to the soul than Tennyson's (saving always In Memoriam), or indeed any other poetry, except Shakespeare, the Four Gospels, and Ecclesiastes, with choice selections from the soi-disant Prophets.-E. J. A." Beyond a multitude of letters, two or three essays, and accounts of his rambles, the literary fruits of 1861 had been few-his poetry in particular proving a scanty crop. For this his MSbook bears the following explanatory entry, with which the story of the year may be fittingly concluded:-" Mem. During this year (1861) I produced but little poetry, as my prospects in life were extremely unsettled, and my hold on life seemed for a long period exceedingly insecure. In the early spring I composed a large amount of elaborate verse, the continuation of The Earl, a poem projected in the summer of 1860; but as it contained unmistakable evidences of inexperience and ignorance of life, I became dissatisfied with it, and destroyed it."—But two poems, at least, of real worth were written, also in the earlier part of the year—the lines "To G. B.", embodying something of his theory of Charity; and, in February, the lines "in memory of the late Captain Boyd, of H. M.'s S. Ajax, and those of his crew who perished with him in their attempt to afford assistance to a vessel in distress" -a tragic incident which had just taken place off the Eastern Pier at Kingstown, and by the accounts of which he had been much moved.' 1 See "Poetical Works" (New Edition), p. 314.-El CHAPTER XIII. 1862, ÆT. 20—. Happy Days Again.-Dear Friends.-Off to France.-Rovings on Foot.-Avranches.-Good-natured Peasants.-Scene at the Fair.- Henry II.'s Pillar.-Reflections.-Mont St. Michel.-Suggestions for "The Prisoner of Mount Saint Michael."- La Naffrée at Sunset.-Villedieu.- An Old Acquaintance.-Villedieu to Vire. - Delicious Hours.Vire.-Warm greetings.-Wanderings in the Vaux de Vire. -The Mill of Basselin.-A Poor Pole.-Through the Bocage to Caen.-Rambles in Caen.-A Beautiful Nun.Suggestions for "The Dargle."-Quaint Contrasts.-Reflections. Walk to Pont l'Évêque.-Honfleur.-Hâvre.— French Soldiers and Ouvriers.-Walk into Rouen.Rambles about Rouen.-Reflections on the Heights of Bon Secours.-St. Adrien in the Rock.-The Forest of Elbœuf. -Long March to Mantes.-Reflections by the Seine.The "Route de Quarante Sous."-Versailles.-Straitened Circumstances of the Travellers. — Paris. — Wanderings about the City. The Cellars of the Faubourg St. Antoine. -The Galleries.-Suggestions for "Ovoca."-Easter Sunday in the Bois de Boulogne.-The Empress.--Homeward. -A Trying Walk.-Caen revisited.-Bayeux.-St. Lô.— Coutances Cathedral.-Memorable View.-Granville.The Remainder Biscuit. RIGHT BRIC RIGHT and happy, with once more before him a settled prospect of an active, progressive intellectual life, his days now went gaily on, while he returned to his beloved Greek and Roman authors, |