"My dear Mr. Leighton,—I am more obliged than I can say by the kindness you have shown in painting portraits of my children. I never saw anything so like, or in general so pleasing, as the portrait of Frederic, and I only regret that it is not in England to be seen and appreciated. Once more accept my thanks, and believe me to be very truly yours,
Cowley."
"My dear Mr. Leighton,—It has been quite out of my power to get to your house, as I had intended, to take leave of you, and to thank you again for the valuable reminiscence which through your talent and kindness I carry away with me. It will give Lady Cowley and myself great pleasure if you will visit us at Paris. You cannot find a better school of study than the Louvre, and we shall be most happy to lodge and take care of you.
"Pray present my best compliments to the members of your family.
"I regret very much not being able to do it in person.—Very faithfully,
Cowley."
On his return from Waldeck, Leighton painted the portrait of Lady Pollington, one of his Frankfort acquaintances.
During these years, when Leighton studied under Steinle, his family lived also at Frankfort, and therefore few other letters written at that time exist. There was a journey to Holland, made during the early summer of 1852, from England, where he and his family had returned for a visit. The journey back to Frankfort, viâ Holland, is the subject of a long letter to his mother.
"There I am at the Hague. Pretty place, the Hague, clean, quaint, cheerful, and ain't the Dutch just fond of smoking out of long clay pipes! And the pictures, Oh the pictures, Ah the pictures! That magnificent Rembrandt! glowing, flooded with light, clear as amber, and do you twig the grey canvas? What Vandykes! what dignity, calm, gently breathing, and a searching thoughtfulness in the gaze, amounting almost to fascination; and only look at that Velasquez, sparkling, clear, dashing; Paul Potter, too, only twenty-two years old when he painted that bull, and just look at it; Jan Steen, Terburg, Teniers, Giov. Bellini (splendid), &c. &c. There I catch myself bearing something in mind: 'And yet, after all' (with an argumentative hitch of the cravat), 'all that those fellows had in advance of us was a palette and brushes, and that we've got too!' I walk down to Scheveningen, and sentimentalise on the seashore; I find the briny deep in a very good humour, and offer you mental congratulations.