ike the sea; in the sound of it there is a strange
and ominous suggestion of an approaching tramp; something nameless and
measureless seems to draw near, and strikes me cold, and yet is welcome.
I lie quiet in bed to-day, and think of the universe with a good deal of
equanimity. I have, at this moment, but the one objection to it; the
_fracas_ with which it proceeds. I do not love noise; I am like my
grandfather in that; and so many years in these still islands has
ingrained the sentiment perhaps. Here are no trains, only men pacing
barefoot. No cars or carriages; at worst the rattle of a horse's shoes
among the rocks. Beautiful silence; and so soon as this robustious rain
takes off, I am to drink of it again by oceanfuls.

_April 16th._--Several pages of this letter destroyed as beneath scorn;
the wailings of a crushed worm; matter in which neither you nor I can
take stock. Fanny is distinctly better, I believe all right now; I too
am mending, though I have suffered from crushed wormery, which is not
good for the body, and damnation to the soul. I feel to-night a baseless
anxiety to write a lovely poem _a propos des bottes de ma grand'mere,
qui etaient a revers_. I see I am idiotic. I'll try the poem.

_17th._--The poem did not get beyond plovers and lovers. I am still,
however, harassed by the unauthentic Muse; if I cared to encourage
her--but I have not the time, and anyway we are at the vernal equinox.
It is funny enough, but my pottering verses are usually made (like the
God-gifted organ voice's) at the autumnal; and this seems to hold at the
Antipodes. There is here some odd secret of Nature. I cannot speak of
politics; we wait and wonder. It seems (this is partly a guess) Ide
won't take the C. J. ship, unless the islands are disarmed; and that
England hesitates and holds off. By my own idea, strongly corroborated
by Sir George, I am writing no more letters. But I have put as many
irons in against this folly of the disarming as I could manage. It did
not reach my ears till nearly too late. What a risk to take! What an
expense to incur! And for how poor a gain! Apart from the treachery of
it. My dear fellow, politics is a vile and a bungling business. I used
to think meanly of the plumber; but how he shines beside the politician!

_Thursday._--A general, steady advance; Fanny really quite chipper and
jolly--self on the rapid mend, and with my eye on _forests_ that are to
fall--and my finger on the axe, which wants