Dearest Mammy,—I have deferred writing until now that I might be able to tell you the result of my little "private view," now over. I am happy to say I have a great success. The "Vision" pleased many people much, but was altogether, as I expected, the least popular; the subject, though very interesting, was less attractive to the many, and besides I have progressed in painting since the date of that picture. My little girl at the fountain, christened for me by one of my visitors, "Lieder ohne Worte," has perhaps had the greatest number of votes.[16] The "Francesca,"[17] on the other hand, has had, I think, the advantage in the quality of its admirers. Watts, for instance, and Mrs. Sartoris think it by far my best daub.
By-the-bye, you will be particularly pleased to hear that Lina's portrait has had an immense success, and indeed, on second thoughts, perhaps it was more admired than anything else. The "Capri" and the "Aslett" were also much liked. Mind, dear Mamma, this letter is "strictly confidential," because although, of course, you want to know what people say of my pictures, anybody else seeing this letter would (or might) suppose I was devoured with vanity.
I have just made an unexpected acquaintance in the Gladstones, who sent me, I don't know why, a card for two parties. It was very polite of them, and of course I went. This is a very egotistical letter, dear Mamma, but I know that is what you want.
I am very sufficiently well, not strong, but never ill. I marched to Wimbledon with the Volunteers last Monday, and got wet several times but did not catch cold.[18]
London. 1861.
Dear Papa,—If the Public receives my pictures as favourably as the Private has done, I shall have no cause to complain; as far, at least, as the maintenance and increase of my reputation is concerned. I should, however, have liked the "market" to be a little more "brisk."
Tom Taylor and Rossetti (Wm.), the only critics that came (as far as I know) besides Stephens, were, as far as I can judge, both of them much pleased with what they saw. I know at least that both spoke well of my pictures behind my back.
As for Ruskin, he was in one of his queer moods when he came to breakfast with me—he spent his time looking at my portfolio and praised my drawings most lavishly—he did not even look at the pictures. However, nothing could be more cordial than he is to me.
I bolted out into the passage after you when you left the other day to tell you that one of the gentlemen you saw come in was Sir Edwin Landseer, but you had disappeared.