place for his family since Bayswater; the fifth, and to one chief
member of it the last. Mrs. Sterling had brought him a new child in
October last; and went
hopefully to Falmouth, d
reading _other_ than
what
befell there.
CHAPTER III.
FALMOUTH: POEMS.
At Falmouth, as usual, he was soon at home in his new
environment;
resumed his labors; had his new small
circle of
acquaintance, the
ready and
constant centre of which was the Fox family, with whom he
lived on an
altogetherintimate, honored and
beloved footing;
realizing his best anticipations in that respect, which
doubtless were
among his first inducements to settle in this new place. Open cheery
heights, rather bare of wood: fresh
southwestern breezes; a brisk
laughing sea, swept by
industrious sails, and the nets of a most
stalwart,
wholesome, frank and interesting population: the clean
little
fishing, trading and
packet Town;
hanging on its slope towards
the Eastern sun, close on the waters of its basin and intricate
bay,--with the
miniature Pendennis Castle
seaward on the right, the
miniature St. Mawes landward to left, and the
mining world and the
farming world open boundlessly to the rear:--all this made a pleasant
outlook and
environment. And in all this, as in the other new
elements of his position, Sterling, open beyond most men to the worth
of things about him, took his frank share. From the first, he had
liked the general
aspect of the population, and their
healthy, lively
ways; not to speak of the special friendships he had formed there,
which shed a charm over them all. "Men of strong
character, clear
heads and
genuine goodness," writes he, "are by no means wanting."
And long after: "The common people here dress better than in most
parts of England; and on Sundays, if the weather be at all fine, their
appearance is very pleasant. One sees them all round the Town,
especially towards Pendennis Castle, streaming in a
succession of
little groups, and
seeming for the most part really and quietly
happy." On the whole he reckoned himself lucky; and, so far as
locality went, found this a handsome shelter for the next two years of
his life. Two years, and not without an
interruption; that was all.
Here we have no continuing city; he less than any of us! One other
flight for shelter; and then it is ended, and he has found an
inexpugnable
refuge. Let us trace his
remote footsteps, as we have
opportunity:--
_To Dr. Symonds, Clifton_.
"_Falmouth, June 28th_, 1841.--Newman writes to me that he is gone to
the Rhine. I wish I were! And yet the only 'wish' at the bottom of
my heart, is to be able to work
vigorously in my own way anywhere,
were it in some Circle of Dante's Inferno. This, however, is the
secret of my soul, which I
disclose only to a few."
_To his Mother_.
"_Falmouth, July 6th_, 1841.--I have at last my own study made
comfortable; the
carpet being now laid down, and most of my
appurtenances in tolerable order. By and by I shall, unless stopped
by
illness, get myself together, and begin living an
orderly life and
doing my daily task. I have swung a cot in my dressing-room;
partlyas a
convenience for myself,
partly as a sort of
memorial of my poor
Uncle, in whose cot in his dressing-room at Lisworney I remember to
have slept when a child. I have put a good large
bookcase in my
drawing-room, and all the rest of my books fit very well into the
study."
_To Mr. Carlyle_.
"_July 6th_.--No books have come in my way but Emerson's, which I
value full as much as you, though as yet I have read only some corners
of it. We have had an Election here, of the usual stamp; to me a
droll 'realized Ideal,' after my late metrical adventures in that