His Letters to friends continue copious; and he has, as always, a

loyally interested eye on whatsoever of notable is passing in the
world. Especially on whatsoever indicates to him the spiritual

condition of the world. Of "Strauss," in English or in German, we now
hear nothing more; of Church matters, and that only to special

correspondents, less and less. Strauss, whom he used to mention, had
interested him only as a sign of the times; in which sense alone do we

find, for a year or two back, any notice of the Church, or its affairs
by Sterling; and at last even this as good as ceases: "Adieu, O

Church; thy road is that way, mine is this: in God's name, adieu!"
"What we are going _to_," says he once, "is abundantly obscure; but

what all men are going _from_, is very plain."--Sifted out of many
pages, not of sufficient interest, here are one or two miscellaneous

sentences, about the date we are now arrived at:--
_To Dr. Symonds_.

"_Falmouth, 3d November_, 1841.--Yesterday was my Wedding-day: eleven
years of marriage; and on the whole my verdict is clear for matrimony.

I solemnized the day by reading _John Gilpin_ to the children, who
with their Mother are all pretty well.... There is a trick of sham

Elizabethan writing now prevalent, that looks plausible, but in most
cases means nothing at all. Darley has real (lyrical) genius; Taylor,

wonderful sense, clearness and weight of purpose; Tennyson, a rich and
exquisite fancy. All the other men of our tiny generation that I know

of are, in Poetry, either feeble or fraudulent. I know nothing of the
Reviewer you ask about."

_To his Mother_
"_December 11th_.--I have seen no new books; but am reading your last.

I got hold of the two first Numbers of the _Hoggarty Diamond_; and
read them with extreme delight. What is there better in Fielding or

Goldsmith? The man is a true genius; and, with quiet and comfort,
might produce masterpieces that would last as long as any we have, and

delight millions of unborn readers. There is more truth and nature in
one of these papers than in all ----'s Novels together."--Thackeray,

always a close friend of the Sterling house, will observe that this is
dated 1841, not 1851, and have his own reflections on the matter!

_To the Same_.
"_December 17th_.--I am not much surprised at Lady ----'s views of

Coleridge's little Book on _Inspiration_.--Great part of the obscurity
of the Letters arises from his anxiety to avoid the difficulties and

absurdities of the common views, and his panic terror of saying
anything that bishops and good people would disapprove. He paid a

heavy price, viz. all his own candor and simplicity, in hope of
gaining the favor of persons like Lady ----; and you see what his

reward is! A good lesson for us all."
_To the Same_.

"_February 1st_, 1842.--English Toryism has, even in my eyes, about as
much to say for itself as any other form of doctrine; but Irish

Toryism is the downrightproclamation of brutalinjustice, and all in
the name of God and the Bible! It is almost enough to make one turn

Mahometan, but for the fear of the four wives."
_To his Father_.

"_March 12th_, 1842.--... Important to me as these matters are, it
almost seems as if there were something unfeeling in writing of them,

under the pressure of such news as ours from India. If the Cabool
Troops have perished, England has not received such a blow from an

enemy, nor anything approaching it, since Buckingham's Expedition to
the Isle of Rhe. Walcheren destroyed us by climate; and Corunna, with

all its losses, had much of glory. But here we are dismally injured
by mere Barbarians, in a War on our part shamefully unjust as well as

foolish: a combination of disgrace and calamity that would have
shocked Augustus even more than the defeat of Varus. One of the four

officers with Macnaghten was George Lawrence, a brother-in-law of Nat
Barton; a distinguished man, and the father of five totally unprovided

children. He is a prisoner, if not since murdered. Macnaghten I do
not pity; he was the prime author of the whole mad War. But Burnes;

and the women; and our regiments! India, however, I feel sure, is
safe."

So roll the months at Falmouth; such is the ticking of the great
World-Horologe as heard there by a good ear. "I willingly add," so

ends he, once, "that I lately found somewhere this fragment of an
Arab's love-song: 'O Ghalia! If my father were a jackass, I would

sell him to purchase Ghalia!' A beautiful parallel to the French
_'Avec cette sauce on mangerait son pere_.'"

CHAPTER IV.
NAPLES: POEMS.

In the bleak weather of this spring, 1842, he was again abroad for a
little while; partly from necessity, or at least utility; and partly,

as I guess, because these circumstances favored, and he could with a
good countenanceindulge a little wish he had long had. In the

Italian Tour, which ended suddenly by Mrs. Sterling's illness
recalling him, he had missed Naples; a loss which he always thought to

be considerable; and which, from time to time, he had formed little
projects, failures hitherto, for supplying. The rigors of spring were

always dangerous to him in England, and it was always of advantage to
get out of them: and then the sight of Naples, too; this, always a

thing to be done some day, was now possible. Enough, with the real or
imaginary hope of bettering himself in health, and the certain one of

seeing Naples, and catching a glance of Italy again, he now made a run
thither. It was not long after Calvert's death. The Tragedy of

_Strafford_ lay finished in his desk. Several things, sad and bright,
were finished. A little intermezzo of ramble was not unadvisable.

His tour by water and by land was brief and rapid enough; hardly above
two months in all. Of which the following Letters will, with some

abridgment, give us what details are needful:--
"_To Charles Barton, Esq., Leamington_.

"FALMOUTH, 25th March, 1842.
"MY DEAR CHARLES,--My attempts to shoot you flying with my paper

pellets turned out very ill. I hope young ladies succeed better when
they happen to make appointments with you. Even now, I hardly know

whether you have received a Letter I wrote on Sunday last, and
addressed to The Cavendish. I sent it thither by Susan's advice.

"In this missive,--happily for us both, it did not contain a
hundred-pound note or any trifle of that kind,--I informed you that I

was compelled to plan an expedition towards the South Pole; stopping,
however, in the Mediterranean; and that I designed leaving this on

Monday next for Cadiz or Gibraltar, and then going on to Malta, whence
Italy and Sicily would be accessible. Of course your company would be

a great pleasure, if it were possible for you to join me. The delay
in hearing from you, through no fault of yours, has naturally put me

out a little; but, on the whole, my plan still holds, and I shall
leave this on Monday for Gibraltar, where the _Great Liverpool_ will

catch me, and carry me to Malta. The _Great Liverpool_ leaves
Southampton on the 1st of April, and Falmouth on the 2d; and will

reach Gibraltar in from four to five days.
"Now, if you _should_ be able and disposed to join me, you have only

to embark in that sumptuous tea-kettle, and pick me up under the guns
of the Rock. We could then cruise on to Malta, Sicily, Naples, Rome,

&c., _a discretion_. It is just _possible_, though extremely
improbable, that my steamer of Monday (most likely the _Montrose_) may

not reach Gibraltar so soon as the _Liverpool_. If so, and if you
should actually be on board, you must stop at Gibraltar. But there

are ninety-nine chances to one against this. Write at all events to
Susan, to let her know what you propose.

"I do not wait till the _Great Liverpool_ goes, because the object for
me is to get into a warm climate as soon as possible. I am decidedly

better.
"Your affectionate Brother,

"JOHN STERLING."
Barton did not go with him, none went; but he arrives safe, and not

_hurt_ in health, which is something.
"_To Mrs. Sterling, Knightsbridge, London_.

"MALTA, 14th April, 1842.
"DEAREST MOTHER,--I am writing to Susan through France, by to-morrow's

mail; and will also send you a line, instead of waiting for the longer