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Life of John Sterling-Part29_Thomas Carlyle(1795-1881)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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not almost rather the penalties paid for exuberance of health, and of



faculty for living and working; criminal forfeitures, incurred by

excess of self-exertion and such irrepressible over-rapidity of



movement: and the vague hope was habitual with us, that increase of

years, as it deadened this over-energy, would first make the man



secure of life, and a sober prosperous worker among his fellows. It

was always as if with a kind of blame that one heard of his being ill



again! Poor Sterling;--no man knows another's burden: these things

were not, and were not to be, in the way we had fancied them!



Summer went along in its usual quiet tenor at Clifton; health good, as

usual while the warm weather lasted, and activity abundant; the scene



as still as the busiest could wish. "You metropolitan signors,"

writes Sterling to his Father, "cannot conceive the dulness and



scantiness of our provincial chronicle." Here is a little excursion

to the seaside; the lady of the family being again,--for good



reasons,--in a weakly state:--

"_To Edward Sterling, Esq., Knightsbridge, London_.



"PORTSHEAD, BRISTOL, 1st Sept., 1840.

"MY DEAR FATHER,--This place is a southern headland at the mouth of



the Avon. Susan, and the Children too, were all suffering from

languor; and as she is quite unfit to travel in a carriage, we were



obliged to move, if at all, to some place accessible by water; and

this is the nearest where we could get the fresher air of the Bristol



Channel. We sent to take a house, for a week; and came down here in a

steamer yesterday morning. It seems likely to do every one good. We



have a comfortable house, with eight rather small bedrooms, for which

we pay four guineas and a half for the week. We have brought three of



our own maids, and leave one to take care of the house at Clifton.

"A week ago my horse fell with me, but did not hurt seriously either



himself or me: it was, however, rather hard that, as there were six

legs to be damaged, the one that did scratch itself should belong to



the part of the machine possessing only two, instead of the

quadrupedal portion. I grazed about the size of a halfpenny on my



left knee; and for a couple of days walked about as if nothing had

happened. I found, however, that the skin was not returning



correctly; and so sent for a doctor: he treated the thing as quite

insignificant, but said I must keep my leg quiet for a few days. It



is still not quite healed; and I lie all day on a sofa, much to my

discomposure; but the thing is now rapidly disappearing; and I hope,



in a day or two more, I shall be free again. I find I can do no work,

while thus crippled in my leg. The man in Horace who made verses



_stans pede in uno_ had the advantage of me.

"The Great Western came in last night about eleven, and has just been



making a flourish past our windows; looking very grand, with four

streamers of bunting, and one of smoke. Of course I do not yet know



whether I have Letters by her, as if so they will have gone to Clifton

first. This place is quiet, green and pleasant; and will suit us very



well, if we have good weather, of which there seems every appearance.

"Milnes spent last Sunday with me at Clifton; and was very amusing and



cordial. It is impossible for those who know him well not to like

him.--I send this to Knightsbridge, not knowing where else to hit you.



Love to my Mother.

"Your affectionate,



"JOHN STERLING."

The expected "Letters by the Great Western" are from Anthony, now in



Canada, doing military duties there. The "Milnes" is our excellent

Richard, whom all men know, and truly whom none can know well without



even doing as Sterling says.--In a week the family had returned to

Clifton; and Sterling was at his poetizings and equitations again.



His grand business was now Poetry; all effort, outlook and aim

exclusively directed thither, this good while.



Of the published Volume Moxon gave the worst tidings; no man had

hailed it with welcome; unsold it lay, under the leaden seal of



general neglect; the public when asked what it thought, had answered

hitherto by a lazy stare. It shall answer otherwise, thought



Sterling; by no means taking that as the final response. It was in

this same September that he announced to me and other friends, under



seal of secrecy as usual, the completion, or complete first-draught,

of "a new Poem reaching to two thousand verses." By working "three






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