ence, where
somehow it always has gone best with my life. As to England, it affects
me so, in body, soul, and circumstances, that if I could not get away
soon, I should be provoked, I think, into turning monster and _hating_
the whole island, which shocks you so to hear, that you will be provoked
into not loving me, perhaps, and _that_ would really be too hard, after
all.

The best news I can give you is that Robert has printed the first half
volume of his poems, and that the work looks better than ever in print,
as all true work does brought into the light. He has read these proofs
to Mr. Fox (of Oldham), who gives an opinion that the poems are at the
top of art in their kind. I don't know whether you care for Mr. Fox's
opinion, but it's worth more than mine, of course, on the ground of
_impartiality_, to say no otherwise, and it will disappoint me much if
you don't confirm both of us presently. The poems, for variety,
vitality, and intensity, are quite worthy of the writer, it seems to me,
and a clear advance in certain respects on his previous productions.

Has 'Maud' penetrated to you? The winding up is magnificent, full of
power, and there are beautiful thrilling bits before you get so far.
Still, there is an appearance of labour in the early part; the language
is rather encrusted by skill than spontaneously blossoming, and the
rhythm is not always happy. The poet seems to aim at more breadth and
freedom, which he attains, but at the expense of his characteristic
delicious music. People in general appear very unfavourably impressed by
this poem, _very unjustly_, Robert and I think. On some points it is
even an advance. The sale is great, _nearly five thousand copies
already_.

Let me see what London news I have to tell you. We spent an evening with
Mr. Ruskin, who was gracious and generous, and strengthened all my good
impressions. Robert took our friend young Leighton to see him
afterwards, and was as kindly received. We met Carlyle at Mr. Forster's,
and found him in great force, particularly in the damnatory clauses. Mr.
Kinglake we saw twice at the Procters', and once here.... The Procters
are very well. How I like Adelaide's face! that's a face worth a drove
of beauties! Dear Mrs. Sartoris has just left London, I grieve to say;
and so has Mrs. Kemble, who (let me say it quick in a parenthesis) is
looking quite magnificent just now, with those gorgeous eyes of hers.
Mr. Kenyon, too, has vanished--gone with hi