I found a Memorandum the other day (I can't now light on it) of a Lincolnshire story about "Haxey Wood" or "Haxey Hood"--which--if I had not told it to you, but left it as by chance in your way some thirty years ago, you would have turned into a shape to outlast all R. B.'s poems put together. There is no use in my finding and sending it now, because it doesn't do (with Paltry Poets) to try and drag them to the water. The two longest and worst tales (I think) in Crabbe's Tales of the Hall, were suggested to him by Sir S. Romilly, and "a lady in Wiltshire." I wish Murray would let me make a volume of "Selections from Crabbe"--which I know I could, so that _common_ readers would wish to read the whole original; which now scarce any one does; nor can one wonder they do not. But Crabbe will flourish when R. B. is dead and buried. Lots of lines which he cut out of his MS. would be the beginning of a little fortune to others. I happened on this couplet the other day: The shapeless purpose of a soul that feels, And half suppresses wrath and half reveals. Not that Crabbe is to live by single couplets or epigrams, but by something far better, as you know better than I. There is a long passage in the Tales of the Hall (Old Bachelor) which always reminds me of you, A. T., where the Old Bachelor recounts how he pleaded with his Whig father to be allowed to marry the Tory Squire's daughter; when, Coolly my father looked, and much enjoy'd The broken eloquence his eye destroy'd, etc. and then pleads to the Tory mother of the girl. Methinks I have the tigress in my eye, etc. Do look at this, A. T., when you get the Book, and don't let my praise set you against it. I have written you a very long letter, you see, with one very bad eye too. I thought it had mended, by help of cold water and goggles; but these last three days it has turned rusty again. I believe it misses the sea air. [Greek: deinôn t' aêma pneumatôn ekoimise[21] stenonta ponton.] Do you quite understand this [Greek: ekoimise]? But what lines, understood or not! The two last words go alongside of my little ship with me many a time. Well, Alfred, neither you, nor the Mistress, are to answer this letter, which I still hope may please you, as it is (all the main part) written very loyally, and is all true. Now, good-bye, and remember me as your old E. F. G.