in the other Great Play. [78c] The Elgin Marbles, and something more, began to pass before my Eyes.
I believe I write all this knowing you are at Ely: where I suppose you are more at Leisure than on your Throne in Trinity. But no doubt your Tyranny follows you there too; post Equitem and all.
To E. B. Cowell.
Woodbridge: Friday
[June, 1866].
My dear Cowell,
I got your new Address from your Brother a Fortnight ago. You don’t write to me for the very good reason that you have so much to do: I don’t write to you because I have nothing to do, and so nothing to tell you of. My idle reading all goes down to a few Memoirs and such things: I am not got down to Miss Braddon and Mrs. Wood yet, and I believe
never shall: not that I think this a merit: for it would show more Elasticity of Mind to find out and make something out of the Genius in them. But it is too late for me to try and retrace the ‘Salle des pas perdus’ of years; I have not been very well, and more and more ‘smell the Mould above the Rose’ as Hood wrote of himself. But I don’t want to talk of this.
You are very good to talk of sparing a Day for me when you come down. I will be sure to be at home any Day, or Days, next week. I can give you Bed and Board as you know: and a Boat Sail on the River if you like. Why I don’t go over to you I have written and spoken of enough—all I can, if not satisfactorily: only don’t think it is indolence, Neglect, or Distaste for you, or any of yours. . . .
I haven’t, I think, taken in your Sanskrit morsel as yet, for I am called about this morning on some Furniture Errands: and yet I want to post this Letter To-day that you may have it this week.
I still think I shall take a Tauchnitz Sophocles with me to Sea, once more to read the two Œdipuses, and Philoctetes; perhaps more carefully than before; perhaps not! It is stupid not to get up those three noble Pieces as well as one can.