Still as I gaze upon the Sea I find Its waves an Image of my restless mind: _Here_ Thought on Thought: _there_ Wave on Wave succeeds, Their Produce--idle Thought and idle Weeds! Adieu: please to remember me to your Husband: and believe me yours ever very sincerely, EDWARD FITZGERALD. _To George Crabbe_. MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE, _Decr._ 28/60. MY DEAR GEORGE, . . . I forgot to tell you I really ran to London three weeks ago: by the morning Express, and was too glad to rush back by the Evening Ditto. I went up for a Business I of course did not accomplish: did not call on, or see, a Friend: couldn't get into the National Gallery: and didn't care a straw for Holman Hunt's Picture. No doubt, there is Thought and Care in it: but what an outcome of several Years and sold for several Thousands! What Man with the Elements of a Great Painter could come out with such a costive Thing after so long waiting! Think of the Acres of Canvas Titian or Reynolds would have covered with grand Outlines and deep Colours in the Time it has taken to niggle this Miniature! The Christ seemed to me only a wayward Boy: the Jews, Jews no doubt: the Temple I dare say very correct in its Detail: but think of even Rembrandt's Woman in Adultery at the National Gallery; a much smaller Picture, but how much vaster in Space and Feeling! Hunt's Picture stifled me with its Littleness. I think Ruskin must see what his System has led to. I have just got Lady Waterford's 'Babes in the Wood,' which are well enough, pretty in Colour: only, why has she made so bad a Portrait of one of her chief Performers, whose Likeness is so easily got at, the Robin Redbreast? This Lady Waterford was at Gillingham this Summer: and my Sister Eleanor said (as Thackeray had done) she was something almost to worship for unaffected Dignity. MARKET-HILL, WOODBRIDGE. _Whit-Monday_ [_May_ 20, 1861]. MY DEAR GEORGE,