I must thank you sincerely for your thoughts about Salámán, in which I recognize a good will toward the Translator, as well as liking for his work.
Of course your praise could not but help that on: but I scarce think that it is of a kind to profit so far by any review as to make it worth the expense of Time and Talent you might bestow upon it. In Omar’s case it was different: he sang, in an acceptable way it seems, of what all men feel in their hearts, but had not had exprest in verse before: Jámí tells of what everybody knows, under cover of a not very skilful Allegory. I have undoubtedly improved the whole by boiling it down to about a Quarter of its original size; and there are many pretty things in it, though the blank Verse is too Miltonic for Oriental style.
All this considered, why did I ever meddle with it? Why, it was the first Persian Poem I read, with my friend Edward Cowell, near on forty years ago: and I was so well pleased with it then (and now think it almost the best of the Persian Poems I have read or heard about), that I published my Version of it in 1856 (I think) with Parker of the Strand. When Parker disappeared, my unsold Copies, many more than of the sold, were returned to me; some of which, if not all, I gave to little Quaritch, who, I believe, trumpeted them off to some little profit: and I thought no more of them.
But some six or seven years ago that Sheikh of mine, Edward Cowell, who liked the Version better than any one else, wished it to be reprinted. So I took it in hand, boiled it down to three-fourths of what it originally was, and (as you see) clapt it on the back of Omar, where I still believed it would hang somewhat of a dead weight; but that was Quaritch’s look-out, not mine. I have never heard of any notice taken of it, but just now from you: and I believe that, say what you would, people would rather have the old Sinner alone. Therefore it is that I write all this to you. I doubt not that any of your Editors would accept an Article from you on the Subject, but I believe also they would much prefer one on many another Subject: and so probably with the Public whom you write for.
Thus ‘liberavi animam meam’ for your behoof, as I am rightly bound to do in return for your Goodwill to me.
As to the publication of my name, I believe I could well dispense with it, were it other and better than it is. But I have some unpleasant associations with it: not the least of them being that it was borne, Christian and Surname, by a man who left College just when I went there. [326] . . . What has become of him I know not: but he, among other causes, has made me dislike my name, and made me sign myself (half in fun, of course), to my friends, as now I do to you, sincerely yours
(The Laird of) Littlegrange,
where I date from.
March 7, [1882].
My dear Norton,
You will receive by Post a volume of Translation of Dante’s Inferno by Musurus Pasha into Modern Greek. I was so much interested in a quotation from it in our ‘Academy’ that I bought it for myself, and subsequently thought that a copy might be acceptable to you, loving both Greek and Dante as you do. Had not I bidden the London Publishers to send it direct to you, I should have written your name and my own on the fly-leaf. But you can do this for us both.
I have not as yet read much of it: for my Eyes are impatient of the Greek letter; but the Language comes out before me as the worthiest representative of the Italian: provided it be pronounced as we have learned to pronounce it, not as the modern Greek man is said to do. I always maintain that a Language is apt to sound better from a Foreigner, who idealises the pronunciation. As to the structure of the language, I doubt that I may prefer the modern to the ancient because of being cleared of many μεν, δε, etc., particles. I think I shall send a Copy to Professor Goodwin. This is nearly all that I have to send across the Atlantic to-day, which reminds me that I have just been quoting (in a little thing [327] I may send you),
What a Line!
. . . It is, I think, worth your while to look at Dean Stanley’s Volume of Bishop Thirlwall’s Letters; nay, even Dean Perowne’s earlier volume, if but to show how the pedantic Boy grew into the large-hearted Man, and even Bishop: but, from the first, always sincere, just, and not pretentious. I remember him at Cambridge: he, Fellow and Tutor, and I undergraduate: and he took a little fancy to me, I think.
To Hallam Tennyson. [328]
Woodbridge. May 28 [1882].
My dear Hallam,
I believe I ought to be ashamed of reviving the little thing which accompanies this Letter. My excuse must be that I have often been askt for a copy when I had no more to give; and a visit to Cambridge last summer, to the old familiar places, if not faces, made me take it up once more and turn it into what you now see. I should certainly not send a copy to you, or yours, but for what relates to your Father in it. He did not object, so far as I know, to what I said of him, though not by name, in a former Edition; but there is more of him in this, though still not by name, nor, as you see, intended for Publication. All of this you can read to him, if you please, at pp. 25 and 56. I do not ask him to say that he approves of what is said, or meant to be said, in his honour; and I only ask you to tell me if he disapproves of its going any further. I owed you a letter in return for the kind one you sent me; and, if I do not hear from you to the contrary, I shall take silence, if not for consent, at least not for prohibition. I really did, and do, wish my first, which is also my last, little work to record, for a few years at least, my love and admiration of that dear old Fellow, my old Friend.
To C. E. Norton.
Woodbridge. June 9/82.
My dear Norton,
I told you, I think, but I scarce know when, that I would send you a very little Tract of mine written forty years ago; and reformed into its present shape in consequence of copies being askt for when I had none to give. So a few days at Cambridge last Summer, among the old places, though not faces, set me off. ‘Et voilà qui est fait,’ and posted to you along with this Letter, together with a Copy for Professor Goodwin. The first and last of my little works: and I do think a pretty specimen of ‘chisell’d Cherry-stone.’ Having which opinion myself, I more than ever deprecate any word of praise from any to whom I send it. Nay, I even assume beforehand that you will like it too: and Professor Goodwin also (so do not let him write): as my little tribute to my own old Cambridge sent to you in your new. I think I shall send it to Mr. Lowell too. So you see that I need no compliment, no, nor even acknowledgment of it. . . .
And now here is enough written. And yet I will enclose some pretty Verses, [330a] some twenty years old, which I sent to ‘Temple Bar,’ which repaid me (as I deserved) with a dozen copies. And I am always truly yours
Littlegrange the Laird.
Longfellow and Emerson! [330b]
Woodbridge. July 13/82.
My dear Norton,
Here is a speedy reply to your kind Letter. For I wish to say at once that when Froude has done what he wants with my Carlyle Papers, you shall have them to do the like. He thought (as I anticipated) that he could use but two or three of the Letters, as you will also guess from the scheme and compass of his Biography, as given in the Letter which I enclose along with this; but, as I bade him use what he saw good, and keep the Papers as long as convenient to him, I cannot as yet ask him, how much, nor how long. When I think I may properly do so, I will: and shall be very glad that you should have them under like conditions. You know that they chiefly concern Naseby, which might do for an Episode, or separate Item, in your Book, though not for Froude’s; I should also think the Letters about that Squire business would be well to clear somewhat up: but that can scarcely be done unless by vindicating Squire’s honesty at the expense of his sanity: and, as I have no reason to suppose but he is yet alive, I know not how this can be decently done. Froude says he cannot see his way into the truth further than Carlyle’s printed Article on the subject goes: but I think Carlyle must have told him his conviction (whatever it was) some time during their long acquaintance. Perhaps, however, he was too sick of what he thought an unimportant controversy to endure any more talk about it. I am convinced, as from the first, that Squire’s story was true; and the fragments of Cromwell’s despatches genuine, though (as Critics pointed out) partially misquoted by a scatter-brained fellow, ignorant of the subject, and of the Writer.
[August 1882].
My dear Mrs. Kemble,
I have let the Full Moon go by, and very well she looked too, over the Sea by which I am now staying. Not at Lowestoft; but at the old extinguished Borough of Aldeburgh, to which as to other ‘premiers Amours’ I revert: where more than sixty years ago I first saw, and first felt, the Sea; where I have lodged in half the houses since; and where I have a sort of traditional acquaintance with half the population: Clare Cottage is where I write from; two little rooms, enough for me; a poor civil woman pleased to have me in them. . . .
The Carlyle ‘Reminiscences’ had long indisposed me from taking up the Biography. But when I began, and as I went on with that, I found it one of the most interesting of Books: and the result is that I not only admire and respect Carlyle more than ever I did: but even love him, which I never thought of before. For he loved his Family, as well as for so long helped to maintain them out of very slender earnings of his own; and, so far as these two volumes show me, he loved his wife also, while he put her to the work which he had been used to see his own Mother and Sisters fulfil, and which was suitable to the way of Life which he had been used to. His indifference to her sufferings seems to me rather because of Blindness than Neglect; and I think his Biographer has been a little too hard upon him on the Score of selfish disregard of her.
Aldeburgh. Sept. 1. [1882].
My dear mrs. Kemble,
Still by the Sea, from which I saw The Harvest Moon rise for her three nights’ Fullness. And to-day is so wet that I shall try and pay you my plenilunal due, not much to your satisfaction; for the Wet really gets into one’s Brain and Spirits, and I have as little to write of as ever any Full Moon ever brought me. And yet, if I accomplish my letter, and ‘take it to the Barber’s’ where I sadly want to go, and after being wrought on by him, post my letter, why, you will, by your Laws, be obliged to answer it. Perhaps you may have a little to tell me of yourself in requital for the very little you have to hear of me.
I have made a new Acquaintance here. Professor Fawcett (Postmaster General, I am told) married a daughter of one Newson Garrett of this Place, who is also Father of your Doctor Anderson. Well, the Professor (who was utterly blinded by the Discharge of his Father’s Gun some twenty or five and twenty years ago) came to this Lodging to call on Aldis Wright; and, when Wright was gone, called on me, and also came and smoked a Pipe one night here. A thoroughly unaffected, unpretending, man: so modest indeed that I was ashamed afterwards to think how I had harangued him all the Evening, instead of getting him to instruct me. But I would not ask him about his Parliamentary Shop: and I should not have understood his Political Economy: and I believe he was very glad to be talked to instead, about some of those he knew, and some whom I had known. And, as we were both in Crabbe’s Borough, we talked of him: the Professor, who had never read a word, I believe, about him, or of him, was pleased to hear a little; and I advised him to buy the Life written by Crabbe’s Son; and I would give him my abstract of the Tales of the Hall, by way of giving him a taste of the Poet’s self.
Yes; you must read Froude’s Carlyle above all things, and tell me if you do not feel as I do about it. . . . I regret that I did not know what the Book tells us while Carlyle was alive; that I might have loved him as well as admired him. But Carlyle never spoke of himself in that way. I never heard him advert to his Works and his Fame, except one day he happened to mention ‘About the time when Men began to talk of me.’
My dear Mrs. Kemble,
I suppose that you are returned from the Loire by this time; but as I am not sure that you have returned to the ‘Hotel des Deux Mondes’ whence you dated your last, I make bold once more to trouble Coutts with adding your Address to my Letter. I think I shall have it from yourself not long after. I shall like to hear a word about my old France, dear to me from childish associations, and in particular of the Loire, endeared to me by Sévigné; for I never saw the glimmer of its waters myself. . . .
It seems to me (but I believe it seems so every year) that our trees keep their leaves very long; I suppose, because of no severe frosts or winds up to this time. And my garden still shows some Geranium, Salvia, Nasturtium, Great Convolvulus, and that grand African Marigold whose Colour is so comfortable to us Spanish-like Paddies. I have also a dear Oleander which even now has a score of blossoms on it, and touches the top of my little Green-house; having been sent me when ‘haut comme ça,’ as Marquis Somebody used to say in the days of Louis XIV. Don’t you love the Oleander? So clean in its leaves and stem, as so beautiful in its flower; loving to stand in water which it drinks up so fast. I rather worship mine.
Woodbridge. October 20/82.
My dear Pollock,
Pray let me hear how you and yours are after your Summer Holyday. I have been no further for mine than Aldeburgh, an hour’s Rail distance from here: there I got out boating, etc., and I think became the more hearty in consequence: but my Bosom friend Bronchitis puts in a reminder every now and then, and, I suppose, will come out of his Closet, or Chest, when Winter sets in. . . .
When I was at Aldeburgh, Professor Fawcett . . . came to see Aldis Wright who was with me there for a Day. When Wright was gone, the Professor came to smoke a Pipe (in his case a Cigar) with me. What a brave, unpretending Fellow! I should never have guessed that a notable man in any way. ‘Brave’ too I say because of his cheerful Blindness; for which I should never have forgiven my Father and his Gun. To see him stalking along the Beach, regardless of Pebble and Boulder, though with some one by his side to prevent his going quite to Sea! He was on the Eve of starting for Scotland—to fish—in the dear Tweed, I think; though he scarce seemed to know much of Sir Walter.
Littlegrange, Woodbridge.
Nov. 8/82.
My dear Laurence,
It is long since I have heard from you: which means, long since I have written to you. But do not impute this to as long forgetfulness on my part. My days and years go on one so like another: I see and hear no new thing or person; and to tell you that I go for a month or a week to our barren coast, which is all the travel I have to tell of, you can imagine all that as easily as my stay at home, with the old Pictures about me, and often the old Books to read. I went indeed to London last February for the sole purpose of seeing our Donne: and glad am I to have done so as I heard it gave him a little pleasure. That is a closed Book now. His Death [337] was not unexpected, and even not to be deprecated, as you know; but I certainly never remember a year of such havock among my friends as this: if not by Death itself, by Death’s preliminary work and warning. . . . I wonder to find myself no worse dealt with than by Bronchitis, bad enough, which came upon me last Christmas, hung upon me all Spring, Summer, and Autumn; and though comparatively dormant for the last three wet weeks (perhaps from repeated doses of Sea Air) gives occasional Signs that it is not dead, but, on the contrary, will revive with Winter. Let me hear at least how you have been, and how are; I shall not grudge your being all well.
Aldis Wright has sent me a very fine Photo of Spedding done from one of Mrs. Cameron’s of which a copy is at Trinity Lodge. It is so fine that I scarce know if it gives me more pleasure or pain to look at it. Insomuch that I keep it in a drawer, not yet able to make up my mind to have it framed and so hung up before me.
My good old Housekeeper has been (along with so many more) very ill, bedded for five or six weeks; only now able to get about again. I have this morning been scolding her for sending away a woman who came to do her work, without consulting me beforehand: she makes out that the woman wanted to go: I find the woman is very ready to return. ‘These are my troubles, Mr. Wesley,’ as a Gentleman said to him when the Footman had put too much coal on the fire.
To W. F. Pollock.
Woodbridge. [1882.]
My dear Pollock,
. . . The Book which has really, and deeply, interested me, and quite against Expectation, is Froude’s Carlyle Biography; which has (quite contrary to expectation also) not only made me honour Carlyle more, but even love him, which I had never taken into account before. In the Biography, Froude seems to me to treat his man with Candour and Justice: even a little too severe in attributing to systematic Selfishness what seems to me rather unreflecting neglect, Carlyle’s relations to his Wife, whom, so far as we read, he loved. Of his Love for his own Family, his Generosity to them, and his own sturdy refusal of help from others, one cannot doubt.
To C. E. Norton.
Woodbridge. Dec. 20, [1882].
My dear Norton,
. . . You may have read somewhere of an ‘Ajax’ at our Cambridge over here. Thirty years ago did I tell the Greek Professor (now Master of Trinity), ‘Have a Greek Tragedy in (what you call) your Senate-house.’ But I was not sufficiently important to stir up the ‘Dons.’ Cowell invited me to see and hear ‘Ajax’; but I remained here, content to snuff at it from the Athenæum of England, not of Attica. And on the very day that Ajax fretted his hour on the stage, my two old Housekeepers were celebrating their Fiftieth, or Golden, wedding over a Bottle of Port wine in the adjoining room, though in that happier Catastrophe I did not further join.
Now, to end with myself; I have hitherto escaped any severe assault from my ‘Bosom-Enemy,’ Bronchitis, though he occasionally intimates that he is all safe in his Closet, and will reappear with the Butterflies, I dare say. ‘Dici Beatus’ let no one in this country boast till May be over.
What you put off, and what you put on,
Never change till May be gone,
says an old Suffolk Proverb concerning our Clothing. Five of my friendly contemporaries have been struck with Paralysis during this 1882: and here am I with only Bronchitis to complain of.
Woodbridge. March 7/83.
My dear Norton,
I wrote to you some little while before Christmas, praying you, among other things, not to put yourself to the trouble of sending me your Emerson-Carlyle Correspondence, inasmuch as I could easily get it over here; and, by way of answer, your two Volumes reached me yesterday, safe and sound from over the Atlantic. I had not time (a strange accident with me) to acknowledge the receipt of them yesterday: but make all speed to do so, with all gratitude, to-day. As you are simply the Editor of the Book, I may tell you something of my thoughts on it by and by. I doubt not that I shall find Emerson’s Letters the more interesting, because the newer, to me. The Portrait at the head of Vol. II. assures me that one will find only what is good in them.
. . . I was glad to find from Mozley’s Oriel Reminiscences that Newman had been an admirer of my old Crabbe; and Mr. L. Stephen has very kindly written out for me a passage from some late work, or Lecture, of Newman’s own, in which he says that, after fifty years, he read ‘Richard’s Story of his Boyhood,’ in the Tales of the Hall, with the same delight as on its first appearance, and he considers that a Poem which thus pleases in Age as it pleased in Youth must be called (in the ‘accidental’ sense of the word, logically speaking) ‘Classical.’
I owe this Courtesy on Mr. Stephen’s part to my having sent him a little Preface to my Crabbe, in which I contested Mr. Stephen’s judgment as to Crabbe’s Humour: and I did not choose to publish this without apprizing him, whom I know so far as he is connected with the Thackerays. He replied very kindly, and sent me the Newman quotation I tell you of. The Crabbe is the same I sent you some years ago: left in sheets, except the few Copies I sent to friends. And now I have tacked to it a little Introduction, and sent forty copies to lie on Quaritch’s counter: for I do not suppose they will get further. And no great harm done if they stay where they are. . . .
One day you must write, and tell me how you and yours have fared through this winter. It has been a very mild, even, a warm, one over here; and I for my part have not yet had much to complain of in point of health thus far; no, not even though winter has come at last in Snow and Storm for the last three days. I do not know if we are yet come to the worst, so terrible a Gale has been predicted, I am told, for the middle of March. Yesterday morning I distinctly heard the sea moaning some dozen miles away; and to-day, why, the enclosed little scrap, [342] enclosed to me, will tell you what it was about, on my very old Crabbe’s shore. It (the Sea) will assuredly cut off his old Borough from the Slaughden River-quay where he went to work, and whence he sailed in the ‘Unity’ Smack (one of whose Crew is still alive) on his first adventure to London. But all this can but little interest you, considering that we in England (except some few in this Eastern corner of it) scarce know more of Crabbe and his where about than by name.
To W. F. Pollock.
[Easter, 1883].
My dear Pollock,
. . . Professor Norton sent me his Carlyle-Emerson—all to the credit of all parties, I think. I must tell the Professor that in my opinion he should have omitted some personal observations which are all fair in a private letter; as about Tennyson being of a ‘gloomy’ turn (which you know is not so), Thackeray’s ‘enormous appetite’ ditto; and such mention of Richard Milnes as a ‘Robin Redbreast,’ etc.; which may be less untrue, though not more proper to be published of a clever, useful, and amiable man, now living.
To C. E. Norton.
Woodbridge. May 12/83.
My dear Norton,
Your Emerson-Carlyle of course interested me very much, as I believe a large public also. I had most to learn of Emerson, and that all good: but Carlyle came out in somewhat of a new light to me also. Now we have him in his Jane’s letters, as we had seen something of him before in the Reminiscences: but a yet more tragic Story; so tragic that I know not if it ought not to have been withheld from the Public: assuredly, it seems to me, ought to have been but half of the whole that now is. But I do not the less recognize Carlyle for more admirable than before—if for no other reason than his thus furnishing the world with weapons against himself which the World in general is glad to turn against him. . . .
And, by way of finishing what I have to say on Carlyle for the present, I will tell you that I had to go up to our huge, hideous, London a week ago, on disagreeable business; which Business, however, I got over in time for me to run to Chelsea before I returned home at Evening. I wanted to see the Statue on the Chelsea Embankment which I had not yet seen: and the old No. 5 of Cheyne Row, which I had not seen for five and twenty years. The Statue I thought very good, though looking somewhat small and ill set-off by its dingy surroundings. And No. 5 (now 24), which had cost her so much of her Life, one may say, to make habitable for him, now all neglected, unswept, ungarnished, uninhabited
‘TO LET’
I cannot get it out of my head, the tarnished Scene of the Tragedy (one must call it) there enacted.
Well, I was glad to get away from it, and the London of which it was a small part, and get down here to my own dull home, and by no means sorry not to be a Genius at such a Cost. ‘Parlons d’autres choses.’
I got our Woodbridge Bookseller to enquire for your Mr. Child’s Ballad-book; but could only hear, and indeed be shown a specimen, of a large Quarto Edition, de luxe I believe, and would not meddle with that. I do not love any unwieldy Book, even a Dictionary; and I believe that I am contented enough with such Knowledge as I have of the old Ballads in many a handy Edition. Not but I admire Mr. Child for such an undertaking as his; but I think his Book will be more for Great Libraries, Public or Private, than for my scanty Shelves at my age of seventy-five. I have already given away to Friends all that I had of any rarity or value, especially if over octavo.
By the way there was one good observation, I think, in Mrs. Oliphant’s superficial, or hasty, History of English 18th Century Literature, viz., that when the Beatties, Blacks, and other recognized Poets of the Day were all writing in a ‘classical’ way, and tried to persuade Burns to do the like, it was certain Old Ladies who wrote so many of the Ballads, which, many of them, have passed as ancient, ‘Sir Patrick Spence’ for one, I think.
Our Spring flowers have been almost all spoilt by Winter weather, and the Trees before my window only just now beginning to
Stand in a mist of Green,
as Tennyson sings. Let us hope their Verdure, late arrayed, will last the longer. I continue pretty well, with occasional reminders from Bronchitis, who is my established Brownie.
Woodbridge. Tuesday,
[June 12, 1883].
My dear Laurence,
It is very kind of you to remember one who does so little to remind you of himself. Your drawing of Allen always seemed to me excellent, for which reason it was that I thought his Wife should have it, as being the Record of her husband in his younger days. So of the portrait of Tennyson which I gave his Wife. Not that I did not value them myself, but because I did value them, as the most agreeable Portraits I knew of the two men; and, for that very reason, presented them to those whom they were naturally dearer to than even to myself. I have never liked any Portrait of Tennyson since he grew a Beard; Allen, I suppose, has kept out of that.
If I do not write, it is because I have absolutely nothing to tell you that you have not known for the last twenty years. Here I live still, reading, and being read to, part of my time; walking abroad three or four times a day, or night, in spite of wakening a Bronchitis, which has lodged like the household ‘Brownie’ within; pottering about my Garden (as I have just been doing) and snipping off dead Roses like Miss Tox; and now and then a visit to the neighbouring Seaside, and a splash to Sea in one of the Boats. I never see a new Picture, nor hear a note of Music except when I drum out some old Tune in Winter on an Organ, which might almost be carried about the Streets with a handle to turn, and a Monkey on the top of it. So I go on, living a life far too comfortable as compared with that of better, and wiser men: but ever expecting a reverse in health such as my seventy-five years are subject to. What a tragedy is that of ---! So brisk, bright, good, a little woman, who seemed made to live! And now the Doctors allot her but two years longer at most, and her friends think that a year will see the End! and poor ---, tender, true, and brave! His letters to me are quite fine in telling about it. Mrs. Kemble wrote me word some two or three months ago that he was looking very old: no wonder. I am told that she keeps up her Spirits the better of the two. Ah, Providence might have spared ‘pauvre et triste Humanité’ that Trial, together with a few others which (one would think) would have made no difference to its Supremacy. ‘Voilà ma petite protestation respectueuse à la Providence,’ as Madame de Sévigné says.
To-morrow I am going (for my one annual Visit) to G. Crabbe’s, where I am to meet his Sisters, and talk over old Bredfield Vicarage days. Two of my eight Nieces are now with me here in my house, for a two months’ visit, I suppose and hope. And I think this is all I have to tell you of
Yours ever sincerely
E. F. G.
* * * * *
This was in all probability the last letter FitzGerald ever wrote. On the following day, Wednesday, June 13, he went to pay his annual visit at Merton Rectory. On Friday the 15th I received from Mr. Crabbe the announcement of his peaceful end: ‘I grieve to have to tell you that our dear friend Edward FitzGerald died here this morning [June 14]. He came last evening to pay his usual visit with my sisters, but did not seem in his usual spirits, and did not eat anything. . . . At ten he said he would go to bed. I went up with him. . . . At a quarter to eight I tapped at his door to ask how he was, and getting no answer went in and found him as if sleeping peacefully but quite dead. A very noble character has passed away.’ On the following Tuesday, June 19, he was buried in the little churchyard of Boulge, and the stone which marks his grave bears the simple inscription ‘Edward FitzGerald, Born 31 March 1809, Died 14 June 1883. It is He that hath made us and not we ourselves.’
For some time before his death he seems to have had a foreboding that the end was not far distant. In one of the last conversations I had with him, certainly during my last visit at Easter 1883, he spoke of his mother’s death, in its suddenness very like his own, and at the same age. ‘We none of us get beyond seventy-five,’ he said. At this age his eldest brother had died, four years before. And in a letter to one of his nieces, after speaking of the fatal malady by which the wife of a dear friend was attacked, he added, ‘It seems strange to me to be so seemingly alert—certainly, alive—amid such fatalities with younger and stronger people. But, even while I say so, the hair may break, and the suspended Sword fall. If it would but do so at once, and effectually!’ Sixteen days later his wish was fulfilled.
To Miss Aitken, 188
To John Allen, 63*, 70-72*, 74, 169*, 206, 219
To Mrs. Charles Allen, 7-9*, 14-16*
To Miss Anna Biddell, 134, 178, 179, 189, 205, 295, 304
From Carlyle, 135, 154, 155, 167, 175*
To Carlyle, 5, 128, 155, 165
To E. B. Cowell, 1, 4*, 19*, 26, 44*, 52*, 57, 59*, 68*, 78*, 83-86*, 93-95*, 99, 103, 106*, 107, 111*, 128 note, 180, 185, 202, 270 note, 322 note
To Mrs. Cowell, 65*, 196, 216
To George Crabbe, 17, 18, 21, 35, 39, 41, 42, 51, 57, 208 note
To W. E. Crowfoot, 118 note
From W. B. Donne, 169 note
To W. B. Donne, 3, 33, 40, 48, 66, 91, 164
To FitzEdward hall, 220*
To Lord Houghton, 285*
To Charles Keene, 280, 289-293
To Mrs. Kemble, 298, 305, 310-312, 320, 332-335
To S. Laurence, 50, 55, 56, 113-116, 171, 190, 212, 277, 303, 337, 346
To J. R. Lowell, 224-226, 235, 245-249, 257, 260, 261, 266-272
To C. E. Norton, 157, 186, 190-192, 196-199, 203, 208, 213, 222, 229-234, 241-244, 253-255, 258, 262, 275, 278, 281, 294, 298, 301, 315-318, 321, 327, 329, 330, 339, 340, 343
To W. F. Pollock, 12, 96, 102, 117-121, 127, 130-132, 135, 137-152, 158-163, 168, 172, 181, 307, 336, 338, 342
To Miss S. F. Spedding, 313, 314
To Frederic Tennyson, 89
To Hallam (now Lord) Tennyson, 328
To Mrs. Alfred (now the Dowager Lady) Tennyson, 308
To Miss Thackeray, 141 note, 207
To W. H. Thompson, 11, 24, 28-31, 34, 36*, 51, 73, 76, 77, 80*, 123, 177*, 296*
To Mrs. W. H. Thompson, 108, 183
To R. C. Trench, 23, 62, 284, 287
To H. Schütz Wilson, 324
To W. A. Wright, 97, 126, 133, 217, 238, 239, 251, 322*
The asterisks indicate the letters which are here printed for the first time.
Academy (Royal), Exhibition of, i. 39
Acis and Galatea, i. 101, 102, 239
Aconites, ‘New Year’s Gifts,’ ii. 180, 320
Æschylus, the geography of the Agamemnon, ii. 33-35; FitzGerald’s translation of the Agamemnon, 109, 112, 162, 186, 188, 216; reviewed in the Nation, 224; Dr. Kennedy’s translation, 259
Airy (William), at school with FitzGerald, i. 2; visits him at Woodbridge, ii. 66
Aitken (Lucy), her letters, ii. 64
Aldeburgh, ii. 290-292, 332; storm at, 342
Allegro and Penseroso, i. 153, 166
Allen (Anne), i. 72
—(Dr.), i. 79
—John, at Cambridge with FitzGerald, i. 2; letters to, 4, 5, etc.; his portrait by Laurence, ii. 15, 346
—(Mary), i. 70, 72, 73
Allenby (Mrs.), i. 155
Arnold (Dr.), his visit to Naseby with Carlyle, i. 125, 126, 132; his Life, 181
Art, objects of, article in Fraser, ii. 145
Arthur (King), the myth of, not suitable for an epic poem, ii.. 111
Attár’s Mantic uttair, i. 311, 312, 314-317, 319, 320, 342
Ausonius, i. 205 note
Austen (Miss), ii. 13, 131, 174; FitzGerald could not read her novels, 190
Austin (Mrs.), characteristics of Goethe, i. 53
Azaël the Prodigal, i. 268
Bacon, Essay of Friendship, i. 21; of Masques, 153; Sylva, ii. 160
Balfe, ballad by, i. 178
Barton (Bernard), his poems, i. 105; his visit to Peel, 203; his portrait by Laurence, 215, 225, 234; his death, 243, 246; edition of his Letters and Poems with Memoir by FitzGerald, 246, 251, 252, 308
—(Lucy), afterwards Mrs. Edward FitzGerald, i. 50 note, 158, 186, 215, 216, 246, 249, 310, 326
Bassano, i. 186
Bath, i. 288
Beaumont (Sir G.), i. 165
Beauty the main object of the Arts, ii. 132
Beauty Bob, FitzGerald’s parrot, i. 159
Beckford (Peter), Essays on Hunting, ii. 280
—(W.), i. 288
Beethoven, i. 57, 103, 113, 195, 200, 277, 290, ii. 118, 119, his Life by Moscheles, i. 112
Béranger, his Letters, ii. 152, quoted 181
Berry (Miss), her correspondence, ii. 73
Bewick, his Life contains an account of a meeting of Wordsworth and Foscolo, ii. 197
Blake, Songs of Innocence, i. 25
Bletsoe, i. 61; the Falcon Inn, 74
Bloomfield (Mrs.), mother of the poet, a saying of hers quoted, ii. 88
Boccaccio, ii. 203, 204
Bodham (Mrs.), i. 190
Borrow (George), i. 317, 334, 342; his Romany Rye, 331; Wild Wales, ii. 35
Bosherston, i. 337
Boswell’s Life of Johnson, Croker’s edition of, ii. 75
Boughton, pictures at, i. 56
Boulge Hall, his father’s seat, i. 38, 75; ‘Malebolge,’ 79 note
Brambelli, i. 194
Bredfield House, i. 1, 63, 64
Brooke (F. C.), ii. 146
Browne (W.), Britannia’s Pastorals, ii. 240
Browne (W. K.), i. 55, 123, 167; his marriage, 168, 185; first meets FitzGerald at Tenby, 338; ii. 8, 10; his fatal accident 2-4, 6, 8
Browning Society (the), ii. 323
Brydges (Sir Egerton), i. 87
Burke’s Letters, i. 182
Burnet (John), on Painting, i. 147
Burnet’s History, i. 68
Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, i. 139; Carlyle’s style influenced by, ib.
Busbequius, i. 230
Byron’s Verses on Rogers, ii. 144
Calderon, translations from, i. 281, 282, 323, 346, 347; ii. 60, 112, 261; edition of the Mágico, 262; his lines about Madrid, 274; unfavourably noticed in the Athenæum, i. 284; Trench’s translation from 307; ii. 287; the Calderon medal sent to FitzGerald, 319
Campion (J. S.), On Foot in Spain, ii. 273
Carew quoted, i. 12, 13
Carlyle (Mrs.), her letters, ii. 343
—(T.), his French Revolution, i. 50; reviewed by Spedding, 73; Miscellanies, 65; Hero Worship, 82, 85; Sartor Resartus, 123; Cromwell, 126, etc, 187, 190, 196, 207; his account of the battle of Naseby, 205; writes on Ireland in the Examiner, 239, 253; his saying about Dickens, 251; his Latter Day Pamphlets, 258; at Malvern 272; at Firlingay with FitzGerald, 295; at Croydon, 302; reading Voltaire, 302; his Frederic the Great, ii. 7, 64; Mrs. Carlyle’s death, 89; Letters on Naseby, 128; on Omar Khayyám, 154, 155; article in Fraser, 178-180; staying near Bromley, 183; his letters to FitzGerald about Cromwell, 184; Medal and Address presented to him on his eightieth birthday, 186; his Lectures on Hero Worship, 191; his visit to Dumfries, 201; reads Victor Hugo, 229; till past midnight at his books, 234, 236; his visit to Thirlwall, 237; reading Goethe, 253; sends FitzGerald his Norway Kings and Knox, 254; reads Shakespeare through to himself, 270; buried at Ecclefechan, 298, 309; his Reminiscences, 302, 304, 308, 311, 317; his visit to Ireland, 323; Biography, 332, 334, 339; correspondence with Emerson, 340, 342
Castle Ashby, pictures at, i. 121
Catullus, ii. 232, 233, 238, 239
Charlesworth (Miss E.), afterwards Mrs. E. B. Cowell, i. 156, 160, 174; her poems, ii. 54
—(Miss M.), ii. 54
Cherubini’s Medea, ii. 119
Child (Professor), his English Ballads, ii. 344
Childs (Charles), of Bungay, i. 265
Chorley’s Musical Recollections, ii. 127
Churchyard (T.), a solicitor at Woodbridge, and an amateur artist, i. 94, 117, 133, 147, 148, 159, 190, 192, 2l6, 221, 243; calls the winter Aconites ‘New Year’s Gifts’, ii. 180; his sketch of Thorpe headland by Aldeburgh, 292
Clarissa Harlowe, i. 108; ii. 64, 107, 208; a favourite with Alfred de Musset, 243, 248
Clarke (E. W.), i. 114
Claude, i. 54
Clive (Kitty), her saying of Mrs. Siddons, ii. 184
Clora, verses to, i. 15, 19
Coleridge, Life by De Quincey, i. 32
Collins (Wilkie), The Woman in White, ii. 90, 95, 131
Constable (J.), pictures by, i. 76-78, 100, 104, 106, 117, 159; Life by Leslie, 165
Contat (Mademoiselle), ii. 148
Cookson (Dr. W.), a correspondent of Carlyle’s, i. 156, 157; his death, 161
Coverley, Sir Roger de, suggested illustrations of, by Thackeray, i. 29, 39
Cowell (E. B.), his translations from Hafiz, i. 205, 294, 304, 306, 332; paper on the Mesnavi, 232; goes up to Oxford, 261; article on Calderon in the Westminster Review, 284, 307; his Pracrit Grammar, 286; his Oxford Essay, 307; appointed Professor of History at the Presidency College, Calcutta 309; his translation of Azräel, ii. 27; visits FitzGerald on his return to England, 57; elected Sanskrit Professor at Cambridge, 93; his Inaugural Lecture, 95, 97; visits FitzGerald at Woodbridge, 232; his suggestion for a Spanish Dictionary on the plan of Littré, 258, 273; at Lowestoft with FitzGerald reading Don Quixote, 272, 274-277
Cowley, ii. 26
Crabbe (Rev. George), the poet, hears Wesley preach at Lowestoft, i. 292; quoted, ii. 17, 163, 187, 210, 211, 256, 272; selections from his poems, 67, 211, 214, 258, 281; portraits of him, 171; FitzGerald’s admiration for, 210, 215; readings from, 264, 266; his humour, 209, 269, 281; his epigrammatic power, 270, 272; article on him in the Atlantic Monthly, 281
—(Rev. George), Vicar of Bredfield, i. 39, 187, 260, 262, 265, 266, 274, 286, 296, 297; ii. 210; reads D’ Israeli’s Coningsby, i. 174; Whewell’s Plurality of Worlds, 293; his illness, 334; and death, 340
—(Rev. George), Rector of Merton, his account of FitzGerald, i. 148, 149
Crome, i. 117, 191
Cromwell, i. 137; his Lincolnshire campaign, 154; miniature copied by Laurence, 198; the Squire Letters, 213
Dante, his portrait by Giotto, i. 90, 93; like Homer atones with the sea, ii. 45; quoted, 48, 146; translated into Modern Greek by Musurus Pasha, 323, 327
D’Arblay (Madame), anecdote of, ii. 56; on Johnson’s later years, 75
Darien Song (the), i. 100
Davenant’s alteration of Macbeth, i. 31
De Quincey, life of Coleridge, i. 32; paper on Southey, etc., in Tait’s Magazine, 65; on Wordsworth, 199; proposed to Lowell as the subject for an Essay, ii. 246
De Soyres (the Rev. John), FitzGerald’s nephew, his edition of Pascal’s Letters, ii. 297
Deutsch (Emanuel), his article on the Talmud in the Quarterly, ii. 97
Dickens (C.), Master Humphrey’s Clock, i. 66; Dombey and Son, 238; David Copperfield, 251, 255; Holyday Romance, ii. 147; his Life by Forster, 153, 171, 277; FitzGerald’s admiration for, 172, 278
D’Israeli’s Lothair, ii. 134
Don Giovanni, i. 58, 195
Donne (John), sermons, i. 42; poems, ii. 26
—(W. B.), at school with FitzGerald, i. 2; FitzGerald’s affection for him, 22 note; article on Hallam, 80; writes in the British and Foreign Review, 84; engaged upon a History of Rome, 97, 99, 115; his Address to the Norwich Athenæum, 204; removes to Bury, 207; his portrait by Laurence, 259; articles on Pepys, 260; Deputy Licenser of Plays, 268; succeeds Kemble as Licenser of Plays, 323; writes on Calderon in Fraser, ib.; on the Antonines in the Edinburgh, ii. 53; his story of Lord Chatham and the Bishops, 68; article in the Athenæum on his edition of the Correspondence of George III. and Lord North, 91; his proposed edition of Tacitus, 93; his account of Tacitus in Ancient Classics for English Readers, 164; his declining health, 322; his death, 337
Donne (W. Mowbray), ii. 53
Don Quixote, ii. 94, 95, 97, 170, 198, 199, 201-204, 268, 272, 274
Doudan, ii. 234, 243, 249
Dryden, ii. 216; his Prefaces, 227; his prose style, 228
Duncan (Francis), i. 222, 223; ii. 71; stays with FitzGerald at Woodbridge, 77
Dunwich, ruins of the Grey Friars’ Monastery, ii. 223, 225, 228, 229, 255, 258, 277
Dysart (Louisa, Countess of), portrait of, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, i. 56
Eastlake (C. L.), i. 39; his translation of Goethe’s Theory of Colours, 67, 80
Edgeworth (F.), i. 31, 88; his wife and sister-in-law, 36; living at Eltham, 43; article on Pindar, 80; mentioned, 142, 144; his death, 210; mentioned in Carlyle’s Life of Stirling, ii. 184
—(Miss), i. 88-90, 144
Edwards (Edwin), ii. 122, 146; his illness, 255, 258; and death, 277
—(Mrs.), ii. 303
Eliot (George), The Mill on the Floss, ii. 159; not admired by FitzGerald, 190, 257
Elliott (Ebenezer), Posthumous Poems, i. 255, 256
Emerson (R. W.), Representative Men, i. 256; on Scott, ii. 194; his death, 330; correspondence with Carlyle, 340, 342, 343
English Gentry (the), i. 68
Eothen, i. 189
Etty (W.), picture of the Bridge of Sighs, i. 39; ‘Aaron,’ 239; ‘John the Baptist,’ ib.
Euphranor, i. 211, 266, 267; ii. 103, 150, 228, 317, 328, 329; praised by Tennyson, ii. 104
Euripides, ii. 48, 49, 85, 87
Evans (R. W.), i. 73
Faires (Mrs.), FitzGerald’s housekeeper at Boulge Cottage, i. 149, 159
Fidelio, ii. 118
Fields’ Yesterdays with Authors, ii. 145
FitzGerald, Edward, born at Bredfield, i. 1; goes to Paris, ib.; to school at Bury St. Edmunds, 2; to Trinity College, Cambridge, ib.; took his degree, 3; at Southampton, 5; at Naseby, ib.; earliest attempt at verse, 5-9; visits Salisbury, 10; and Bemerton, ib.; at Tenby, 11, 46, 69, 70; his Paradise, a collection of English verse, 12; reads Shakespeare’s Sonnets, 14; adopts a vegetable diet, 22; living in London, 24; sees Shakespeare’s Hamlet, 24, 28; Henry VIII., 24; Macbeth, 25, 31; with Spedding at Cambridge, 28; living at Wherstead Lodge, ib.; his friendships like loves, 30; reading The Merry Wives of Windsor, ib.; and the Spectator, ib.; with Spedding and Tennyson at Mirehouse, 33; ii. 305, 310, 315; at Ambleside, i. 33; his father removes to Boulge, 38, 39; reading Aristophanes, 44, 47; his cottage at Boulge, 47, 48; reading Plutarch’s Lives, ib., and Lyell’s Geology, ib.; his marriage with Miss Barton, 50 note; stays in Bedfordshire, 52, 61, 67; at Lowestoft with W. Browne, 55; reading Pindar, 56; Tacitus, 60; Homer, 64; at his uncle Peter Purcell’s at Halverstown, 62; reads Burnet, 68; Herodotus, 71; regrets his want of scholarship, ib.; grows bald, ib.; makes Tar water, 72; reads Newman’s sermons, 73; buys a picture by Constable, 76; stays at Edgeworthstown, 88; at Naseby, 90; reads Livy, 97; invited to lecture at Ipswich, 97, 99; his opinion of his own verses, 105; first meets Carlyle, 125; his excavations at Naseby, and correspondence with Carlyle, 126, etc.; reads Virgil’s Georgics, 134; in Ireland, 141-143; his cottage at Boulge, 150; visits Carlyle, 159, 169; his life at Boulge, 164, 176, 180; visits W. B. Donne, 173; makes an abstract of the Old Curiosity Shop for children, 174; at Leamington, 175; at Cambridge, 210; reads Thucydides, 214, 228, 233, 248; his interview with William Squire, 216-220; at Exeter, 220; reads Homer, 228; contributes notes to Selden’s Table Talk, 231; his father’s death, 278; translations from Calderon, 281; studies Persian, 282, 285, 286; at Farlingay, 287, 294; at Bath, 287; at Oxford, 290; Carlyle stays with him at Farlingay, 295; translates Jámí’s Salámán and Absál, 304, 306; reading Hafiz, 311; and Attár’s Mantic uttair, i. 311; which he translates, 312, 313, etc.; ii. 44, 100; reading Æschylus, i. 324, 325; thinks of translating the Trilogy, 330; at Gorlestone, 331; reading Omar Khayyám, 332, 335; his epitome of Attár’s Mantic uttair, 342, 348; his translations from Omar Khayyám offered to Fraser’s Magazine, 345, 348; ii. 2, 29; translates Calderon’s Mighty Magician, i. 346; ii. 60; and Vida es Sueño, i. 347; ii. 5, 61, 62; collects a Vocabulary of rustic English, i. 347; prints his translation of Omar, ii. 2, 4, 29; stays at Aldeburgh, 16; gives a fragment of Tennyson’s MS. to Thompson, 25; who returns it, 28; his new boat, 37, 40, 45; at Merton with George Crabbe, 39; at Ely, ib.; goes to Holland, 42; reads Dante and Homer, 45, 48; the sea brings up his appetite for Greek, 49; buys Little Grange, 57; sends his translation of the Mighty Magician to Trench, 62; and of Vida es Sueño to Archdeacon Allen, 63; proposes a Selection from Crabbe, 67; carries Sophocles to sea with him, 78, 79, 82, 83, 85; makes his will, 80; does not care for Horace, 82, 83; reads Euripides, 86, 87; The Woman in White, 90, 95; his Herring-lugger, 90, 94, 101, 103, 109; reads Don Quixote, 94, 95, 97, 170; and Boccaccio, 95, 97; his Lugger Captain, 94, 101, 103, 106, 107, 110, 113-116, 213; his Sea Words and Phrases, 116; proposes to adapt the music of Fidelio to Tennyson’s King Arthur, 119; his acquaintance with Spanish, 121; gives up his yacht, The Scandal, 126; reads Scott, 128; cannot read George Eliot, 159, 190; goes to Naseby about the monument, 160; reports his failure to Carlyle, 165; goes to Abbotsford, 172, 194; makes the acquaintance of Madame de Sévigné, 184, 185; begins to ‘smell the ground,’ 185; sends the Agamemnon and two Calderon plays to Professor Norton, 186, 187; death of his old boatman, 217; reads Munro’s Lucretius, ib.; Carlyle’s Cromwell, 229, 230; at Dunwich, 255; his Readings from Crabbe, 264, 266; his Half Hours with the Worst Authors, 280; sends his Readings from Crabbe to Trench, 284; does not care for modern poetry, 288; his Quarter-deck, 293; is troubled with pains about the heart, 296; sends Professor Norton Part II. of Œdipus, 301; has Carlyle’s Meerschaum as a relic, 303; spends two days at Cambridge, 316; receives the Calderon medal, 319; reads the Fortunes of Nigel, 321; at Aldeburgh, 332; reads Carlyle’s Biography, 332, 334, 339; meets Professor Fawcett, 333, 336; his last letter, 346; dies at Merton, 348; and is buried at Boulge, ib.
FitzGerald (Isabella), FitzGerald’s sister, i. 73, 161
—(John Purcell), FitzGerald’s eldest brother, his wife’s illness, i. 35, 48; mentioned, 50; his death, ii. 263, 267
—(Lusia or Andalusia), Mrs. De Soyres, FitzGerald’s sister, i. 95; her marriage, 174; her home in Somersetshire, 222
—(Mary Frances), FitzGerald’s mother, i. i; her portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, ii. 297
—(Peter), brother of Edward, ii. 66; his wife, 68; her illness, 77; and death, 82, 85, 86
Fletcher, quoted, i. 16, 17
Ford (Richard), Gatherings in Spain, ii. 320
Forster’s Life of Dickens, ii. 153, 277
Foscolo, ii. 197
Franco-German War (the), ii. 117
Freestone, the Allens’ house at, i. 69-71, 337; ii. 10
French character, change in, ii. 118 note
French Revolution, i. 235
Frere (Mrs.), i. 58
Gainsborough Fight, i. 161, 162
—(T.), the Watering Place, i. 78, 95; picture attributed to, 94, 95; ‘the Goldsmith of Painters,’ 95; his method, 147; copy by Laurence of his portrait of Dupont, ii. 56; his saying on his deathbed, ib.
Gasker (Athanasius), Library of Useless Knowledge, i. 114
Gay (Sophie), Salons de Paris, ii. 148
Geldart (Joseph), i. 173, 243
Geldestone Hall, the residence of Fitz-Gerald’s sister, Mrs. Kerrich, i. 3, etc.
Generals (The Two), ii. 105, 107
Gil Blas, ii. 180
Gillies, his Life of a Literary Veteran, contains letters of Wordsworth and notices of Scott, ii. 197, 199
Goethe, Characteristics of, i. 53; Theory of Colours, 67; Tennyson’s saying of him, ii. 193; translation of Faust, 262; FitzGerald believed in him as philosopher and critic, not as poet, ib.; his theory that the two Œdipuses and Antigone were a Trilogy, 278
Goethe and Schiller, correspondence of, ii. 320
Gordon (Lady Duff), her Letters from Egypt, ii. 69
Gray’s Ode on a distant prospect of Eton College, i. 63; his Elegy, ii, 209, 270; his opinion of Dryden’s prose, 228
Griffin (Gerald), The Collegians, i. 90
Groome (J. H.), i. 260
—(R. H.), Archdeacon of Suffolk, ii. 59, 73, 97, 200, 253
Gurgoyle School of Art (the), ii. 248
Hafiz, i. 205, 294, 304, 306, 311, 319, 320, 322
Half Hours with the Worst Authors, ii. 280
Ham, i. 275
Hampton Court, i. 276
Handel, i. 101-103, 111, 112, 153, 166, 183, 200, 265, 266, 290; ii. 49
Hare (A. J. C.), his Spain, ii. 169; Memorials ib.
—(J. C. and A. W.), Guesses at Truth, i. 53
Harrington’s Oceana, i. 140
Hatifi, i. 329, 348
Hawthorne (Nathaniel), ii. 145; a man of true genius, 191, 246, 265, 271; his Journal in England, 265; a noble book, 267; FitzGerald does not take to him, 105, 246, 271; his Italian Journal, 273
Haydon (B. R.), Memoir by his son, contains notices of Wordsworth, ii. 197, 199
Haymarket Theatre (the), associated with Vestris, ii. 120, 138; Pasta, 138, 295; and Rubini, 295
Hazlitt (W.), his English Poets, ii. 196
Heine (H.), ii. 150, 162
Helmingham Hall, i. 56
Herodotus, i. 71, 73
Holmes (O. W.), ii. 191
Hugo (Victor), Toilers of the Sea, ii. 145, 150; his Misérables, 229
Hullah, i. 243
Hunt (Holman), his Christ in the Temple, ii. 17
—(Leigh), selections by, i. 179
Hypocrite (the), i. 254
Ingelow (Jean), ii. 46, 47, 54
Jámí’s Salámán and Absál, i. 304, 306, 312, 317, 318; new edition of FitzGerald’s version, ii. 263, 324; the first Persian poem read by FitzGerald, 325
Jeláleddín, i. 312, 317, 319; ii. 27
Jenney (Mr.), the owner of Bredfield House, i. 63, 64, 96, 106
Johnson’s lines on Levett quoted, i. 124; his bookcase, 196
Juvenal, ii. 34, 35, 58, 59
Keats’ Letters and Poems, i. 246; his Hyperion, ii. 178, 246, 249; his Love Letters, 233, 235, 238, 245; subject for picture from K., 235, 239, 293; his sister, 249; Severn’s letters about him, 276
Keene (C. S.), sends a packet of his drawings to FitzGerald, ii. 291; and an old map of Paris, 293; recommends North’s Memoir of Music, 323
Kemble (Charles), i. 44
—(J. M.), at school with FitzGerald, i. 2; recites Hotspur’s speech, ib., working on Anglo Saxon MSS. at Cambridge, 25; article in the British and Foreign Review, 80, 84
—(Mrs. Fanny), her opinion of the translations from Calderon, ii. 67, 187; makes the Agamemnon known in America, 186, 188; declines to join the Browning Society, 323
Kerrich (Mrs), FitzGerald’s favourite sister, her death, ii. 46
—(Walter), FitzGerald’s nephew, married, i. 335
Ladies Magazine, ii. 140
Lamb (Charles), Album Verses, i. 32; Essays in the London Magazine, 143; Letters, ii. 198, 240; FitzGerald’s Data of his life, 239, 242, 247
Landor (W. S.), i. 288, 289
Laurence (S.), Spedding’s description of, i. 75 note, his opinion of Gainsborough, 95; his portraits of Wilkinson, 167, 170; Coningham, 166, 171; Barton, 215, 225, 234; Tennyson, 242, 243; Donne, 259; studies the Venetian secret of colour, 243; his portrait of Archdeacon Allen, ii. 15; his opinion of Romney’s portraits, 41; his portraits of Thackeray, 50, 55; asked by FitzGerald to copy Pickersgill’s portrait of Crabbe, 171
Le Désert, i. 194
Lever (C.), his Cornelius O’Dowd, ii. 181
Lewis (G. Cornewall), ii. 183
Lily (Lyly or Lilly) quoted, i. 15
Lind (Jenny), i. 224, 237, 239
Longfellow, ii. 191; his death, 330
Longus, i. 211
Louis Philippe, i. 59
Louvre, the, i. 4
Lowell (J. R.), Among my Books, ii. 191, 192, 199, 203; his Odes, 208, 215; his Essays, 222, 223, 226, 227, 229, 230; proposed to visit FitzGerald, 224, 225; his Moosehead Journal, 233; Mrs. Lowell’s illness, 272
Lowestoft, the beachmen decline to join the Naval Reserve, ii. 13
Lucretius, ii. 58; Professor Sellar’s article on, ib., Munro’s edition, 82, 217-219; quoted, 218; coincidence with Bacon, 219
Lushington (Franklin), i. 291
Luton, pictures at, i. 74
Lyell’s Geology, i. 229
Macaulay’s Memoirs, ii. 200
Macnish (Dr.), lines on Milton, i. 65
Macready as Wolsey, i. 24; as Macbeth, 24, 25; as Hamlet, 28; his revival of Acis and Galatea, 102; as Virginius, ii. 120, 158; his funeral, 158
Malkin (Arthur), his marriage, i. 27
—(Dr.), master of Bury School, his opinion of Crabbe, ii. 300
Manfred, i. 31
Martial, i. 229, 230
Martineau (Miss), cured by mesmerism, i. 179
Marvell (Andrew), quoted, ii. 133, 134
Matthews (Rev. T. R.), of Bedford, i. 122, 160, 169; his death, 197
Maurice (F. D.), his Introductory Lecture, i. 139; the Kingdom of Christ, ib.
Mazzinghi, (T. J.), i. 14
Mendelssohn, new Symphony by, i. 120; his Midsummer Night’s Dream, 177, 237; Elijah, 237; Fingal’s Cave, ib.; his opinion of Donizetti, ii. 127
Merivale (C.), Dean of Ely, his marriage, i. 264; History of Rome, ib.; ii. 260; meets FitzGerald at Lowestoft, 297
Meyerbeer, i. 277
Millais, ii. 142, 173, 293
Milnes (R. M.), Lord Houghton, i. 114; ii. 245, 249
Molière, his Life by Taschereau, ii. 150
Montagu (Basil), Selections from Jeremy Taylor, etc. i. 34; Life of Bacon, 42; a saying of his recorded, 151
Montaigne, ii. 91, 92, 95, 97, 98; traces of him in Shakespeare and Bacon, 251
Montgomery (James), quoted, i. 185
—(Robert), i. 169
Moor (Major), i. 89; his death, 235; his Oriental Fragments, 308
Moore (Morris), i. 166, 175, 210, 239; his controversy with Eastlake, 225
—(T.), his Memoirs, i. 286
Morland, picture by, i. 192
Morton (Savile), i, 58, 59, 77, 81, 83, 85, 88, 93, 101, 104, 118, 121, 123, 150, 170, 177, 181, 188, 202, 239; a selection of his Letters sent to Blackwood’s Magazine but not published, ii. 76, 141; others collected by FitzGerald, 76, 89, 141
Moxon (E.) his Sonnets, i. 87
Mozart, i. 195, 200, 277; ii. 119; his Requiem, 122, 123; his Così, 151
Mozley’s Reminiscences of Oriel, ii. 341
Müller (Max), Essay on Comparative Mythology, i. 309; on Darwin, ii. 160
Munro (H. A. J.), his edition of Lucretius, ii. 82, 217-219; his Criticisms and Elucidations of Catullus, 232, 236, 238
Musset (Alfred de), ii. 243, 248
Naseby, i. 5, 75
—battle of, i. 91, 125; FitzGerald’s excavations, 126, etc., 206; ii. 129; Carlyle’s proposed inscription for a pillar, i. 301; ii. 128, 132, 135, 136
Nelson (John), his Autobiography, ii. 105:
—(Lord), ii. 23