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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, dreading _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; partly

as 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




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