If you have never read Charles Tennyson (Turner’s) Sonnets, I should like to send them to you to read. They are not to be got now: and I have entreated Spedding to republish them with Macmillan, with such a preface of his own—congenial Critic and Poet—as would discover these Violets now modestly hidden under the rank Vegetation of Browning, Swinburne, and Co. Some of these Sonnets have a Shakespeare fancy in them:—some rather puerile—but the greater part of them, pure, delicate, beautiful, and quite original. [151b] I told Mr. Norton (America) to get them published over the water if no one will do so here.
Little did I think that I should ever come to relish—old Sam Rogers! But on taking him up the other day (with Stothard’s Designs, to be sure!) I found
a sort of Repose from the hatchet-work School, of which I read in the Athenæum.
I like, you know, a good Murder; but in its place—
‘The charge is prepared; the Lawyers are met—
The Judges all ranged, a terrible Show’ [152]—
only the other night I could not help reverting to that sublime—yes!—of Thurtell, sending for his accomplice Hunt, who had saved himself by denouncing Thurtell—sending for him to pass the night before Execution with perfect Forgiveness—Handshaking—and ‘God bless you—God bless you—you couldn’t help it—I hope you’ll live to be a good man.’
You accept—and answer—my Letters very kindly: but this—pray do think—is an answer—verily by return of Post—to yours.
Here is Summer! The leaves suddenly shaken out like flags. I am preparing for Nieces, and perhaps for my Sister Andalusia—who used to visit my Brother yearly.
Your sincere Ancient
E. F.G.