ider this with me; but you
would grunt dissent, and smile bitterly at my theories. I am trying to
teach the bumpkins of the united parishes of Boulge and Debach to sing a
second to such melodies as the women sing by way of Hymns in our Church:
and I have invented (as I think) a most simple and easy way of teaching
them the little they need to learn. How would you like to see me, with a
bit of chalk in my hand, before a black board, scoring up semibreves on a
staff for half a dozen Rustics to vocalize? Laugh at me in Imagination.
. . .

Almost the only man I hear from is dear old Spedding, who has lost his
Father, and is now, I suppose, a rich man. This makes no apparent change
in his way of life: he has only hired an additional Attic in Lincoln's
Inn Fields, so as to be able to bed a friend upon occasion. I may have
to fill it ere long. Merivale (you know, surely) is married, and has a
son I hear. He lives some twenty miles from here. . . .

Now, my dear Frederic, this is a sadly dull letter. I could have made it
duller and sadder by telling you other things. But, instead of this, let
me hear from you a good account of yourself and your family, and
especially of my little Godson. Remember, I have a right to hear about
him. Ever yours, dear old Grimsby,

E. F. G.

[19 CHARLOTTE ST., FITZROY SQUARE,
_Dec_. 1851.]

MY DEAR OLD FREDERIC,

I have long been thinking I would answer a long and kind letter I had
from you some weeks ago, in which you condoled with me about my finances,
and offered me your house as a Refuge for the Destitute. I can never
wonder at generosity in you: but I am sorry I should have seemed to
complain so much as to provoke so much pity from you. I am not worse off
than I have been these last three years; and so much better off than
thousands who deserve more that I should deserve to be kicked if I whined
over my decayed fortunes. If I go to Italy, it will be to see Florence
and Fred. Tennyson: I do not despair of going one day: I believe my
desire is gathering, and my indolence warming up with the exhilarating
increase of Railroads.

But for the present here I am, at 19 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square,
come up to have a fresh squabble with Lawyers, and to see to an old
College friend who is gone mad, and threatens to drive his wife mad too,
I think. Here are troubles, if you like: I mean, these poor people's.
Well, I have not had much time except to post about in Omnibi between